Potters, Weasleys, and Misguided Sequel
by Somewhat Quirky
Summary: The sequel to the not-very-well-explained-by-the-title "Potters, Weasleys, and Misguided Snogging" fanfic written in 2012-13.
1. Rekindling

**author's note:** the characters (for the most part) and world portrayed in this story belong to the ever so talented JKR. This story functions as a sequel to _Potters, Weasleys, and Misguided Snogging_, so if you want context, I suggest you read that. ((yes this is partially because I handled the epilogue badly what of it - also, if you read this, it doesn't perfectly mirror the epilogue TL or "canon" so yeah maybe I'll just get rid of the epilogue depending on your reactions?))

* * *

**Chapter One**

"**Rekindling"**

**Or**

"**Crawling Back To You"**

* * *

For James Potter, he had conquered the world with a Quaffle under his arm.

For Cordelia Gilbert, she was focusing on the documentation of said Quaffle adventures.

For Rose Weasley, the dust had settled and so had she.

For Scorpius Malfoy, saving humanity came second to sleeping off late shifts.

For Lily Potter, it was hard being shipped off without her brothers.

For Fred Weasley, perhaps for once things were easy.

For Andy Fawcett, the figurative dough was being kneaded.

But more on that later.

* * *

It was chilly and no one seemed to move fast enough for James Potter to get where he needed to be. Given the late August date, the main street was packed with Hogwarts students and their families buying supplies, and this added to the tally of people who would inevitably recognize his face. In the three years since he'd left school, James had moved up the ranks of Chasers in the Montrose Magpies, garnering _Prophet_ articles and interviews with _Witch Weekly_ and dinner dates with many a well-known songstress. None of them had stuck.

Not like the girl with light brown hair who was walking with her younger brother out of Flourish and Blotts. She'd certainly stuck.

Cordelia Gilbert was nineteen, and worked for _The Daily Prophet _as a junior Quidditch correspondent. She picked up articles from other departments on occasion, and James tended to lie about the reason he was reading such articles as _Why The Weird Sisters' Reunion Album Is The Most Important Musical Creation Of Our Time_ and _Turning Tables in Tuscany_. Fred told him he had too much time on his hands.

Cordelia's younger brother, Mitchell – about to enter his third year at Hogwarts – sighted James a few feet away from him and said enthusiastically, "hello, James!"

James grinned at Mitchell and stepped a bit closer for the sake of conversation, watching Cordelia's previously distracted head whip around at the mention of his name. They hadn't spoken many times in the past year, and seeing her so close nearly knocked him out. It was like all of it happened again, whenever he saw her; a whole ten months flashed through his mind, kissing this girl and holding this girl and fighting with this girl about Quidditch and the fact that, for a time, his brother had fancied her as well – all of it hit him like a Bludger. Trust Cordelia Gilbert to turn his nonchalance into mush.

She smirked at him. "Hey there, stranger."

"Are you here shopping for school supplies?" James asked Mitchell.

Both the boy and Cordelia nodded. "I'm going into fourth year," said the former.

James smiled. "Oh – that's a big year, fourth year. Lots of stuff happens."

"I'm really excited," Mitchell told him. "I think I'll play Quidditch this year, though I don't know if I'm the Chaser type."

"What position do you play, then?"

"Keeper," said Mitchell proudly.

James smirked, glancing to Cordelia. "Well, I know how your sister likes those."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't pay him any mind, Mitch," she instructed. Then, looking around, she noticed a familiar face down the way. "Look, it's Eileen Pucey – don't you want to go and say hi?"

Mitchell beamed, ready to run off. "Will you still be here when I get back?"

"Presumably," said Cordelia. "Go on."

Once Mitchell had raced off through the throng of witches and wizards alike, Cordelia turned back to James and folded her arms. "Really? You _had_ to play the Kevin card?"

Kevin Corner was Cordelia's other ex-boyfriend, whom she had dated for roughly six weeks a year after James cut things off with her. Kevin now worked in an office at the Ministry, obviously in an attempt to crack in early and make his way up the ladder of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Before that, though, he had played Keeper on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team.

"I'm not going to say that I didn't notice the comparison," he acknowledged. "Come on – it's not like it's hard to keep track of your exes."

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. "Oh – so that's what you've been up to, then?"

"What? Making sure you stay single?" James made a disparaging noise. "_Please_, Poppins, I don't have time to stalk you. Plus, I'd know if you were dating anyone without keeping tabs."

"Oh?"

"Well, you work for my mum. I think she'd tell me if people were sending you flowers and interrupting you at work and kissing you every time they came and went."

"So that's what you expect a boyfriend of mine to do, then?"

He shrugged. "That's what I would do if I was your boyfriend. And, as you might recall, I _was_." She groaned and he grinned. "In fact, I was the very _first_. You could even say Kevin Corner was a rebound and I am the one true love of your life, if you want."

"Or you could say we went out for ten months and you proceeded to try and kiss me while I was on a date with the – quote – 'rebound', thus not respecting my boundaries _or_ his." Cordelia shrugged. "I don't know."

"You're not serious, are you, Poppins?"

Cordelia hesitated. "I've had a lot of time to think about it, James." She reached out and took his hand. "I know we really, deeply cared for each other – and it's not that I don't worry about you anymore – but not all of the decisions we made were good ones."

James, still holding her hand, began to swing his arm to and fro. Cordelia's swung with it. James grinned at her. "I think all my decisions were pretty great, personally."

"Monique la Roux. Kissing me while you were dating Monique la Roux. Kissing me while I was on a date with Kevin while you were dating Monique la Roux." Cordelia pulled her hand out of his to mime counting. "And that's only three."

James cringed. "I _will_ admit I wasn't very smart about that." He bit his lip. "Why can't we just be mates, Poppins?"

She shrugged. "That's your choice. Will you try to kiss me?"

"It's been a few years since we broke up. I'll endeavor not to."

Cordelia laughed, and James spied Mitchell returning from his conversation with Eileen Pucey. Mitchell's sister seemed to as well.

"I'd like to be your friend," she told James. "I don't think I ever really got to be that."

James laughed. "No, we _were_ pretty all-or-nothing, weren't we?"

Mitchell returned and Cordelia smiled. "Where to now, soldier?"

"I need a new cauldron for Potions."

"Alright, let's be off, then." She patted him on the back to hurry him along and then turned back to James. "Sorry about hurrying away like this. My mum will kill us if we're not back for tea."

"No worries," James replied, tipping an imaginary hat.

"See you round?"

"See you round."

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron was cloudy with late afternoon light and pipe fumes. It was packed, and for this reason no one had noticed the three young people grouped together at a corner table. Scorpius Malfoy, in a well-tailored suit, sat with Albus Potter on his right. Al's younger sister, Lily, was lounging in the seat opposite Scorpius, looking rather bored. The vacant seat beside her was piled high with new schoolbooks; Lily was about to start her seventh year at Hogwarts, and she did not seem overly pleased about it.

"You're looking cheery," Scorpius noted, glancing from her face to the way her hands fidgeted with her bottle of butterbeer.

"Me?" Lily smirked. "Oh, absolutely. Life of the party. Can't wait to go back to school and take N.E.W.T.s and get talked down to for being a female Quidditch captain." She sighed. "It's the highlight of my existence."

Albus shot her a look. "Try to be a bit more optimistic."

"I shall endeavor to," said Lily, as though the idea of it was a chore. She took a sip of her butterbeer. "Speaking of optimism, didn't both of your girlfriends say they'd be here by half three?" She made a performance of checking the clock halfway across the pub. "It is now _four_ o'clock." She looked at Scorpius, sighing. "Looks like you two don't have much cause to be optimistic."

"Oi!" Scorpius protested. "I'll have you know, Patricia is the manager of _Tumbleweed_ – you know, the band that is currently _touring_?"

"And Andy's in Bristol," said Al, "working full throttle for her new bakery, with Sennen."

"Spends more time with Sennen than she does with you, mate," Scorpius muttered. He caught Lily's eye and winked.

* * *

Barbara Tennant was due for a promotion, and a wedding. She had been working in the Department of International Magical Cooperation since she left Hogwarts, and had watched Felicia Alexander – the Head of said department – fire many an intern, either because they were incompetent or simply because she had grown tired of them. Barbara had never been one of these people. Instead, Felicia had decided to promote Miss Tennant to be her Junior Assistant: a development that Barbara was happy about, but also rather scared.

Something else in Barbara's life had the same effect on her, and this was her impending marriage to long-time boyfriend Fred Weasley. Thankfully, Fred's grandmother Molly had commandeered the planning of the event and left Barbara with very little to worry about, beyond choosing the right dress and showing up for the ceremony.

Now Barbara had a new job, and her wedding was a week away, and it was all slightly terrifying, to say the least.

She sat at the small kitchen table of her and Fred's shared apartment above his father's shop, trying to make sense of it all. Everything in her life should have been colliding at once, in a cosmic blitz of happiness and elation, and it was – of course it was – but for all the effort she'd put into it, she had begun to feel like she was encroaching on someone else's existence. She had the oddest feeling of peering into the open window of another person's life.

Sitting at the baby blue table with a mug of tea clasped in her hands and wisps of dark hair falling around her face, Barbara Tennant felt overwhelmingly absent – drowning and flying, simultaneously. She almost couldn't believe that she was getting married, and to _Fred_, of all people. Fred, who had been her best friend since they first met at Hogwarts; Fred, who hadn't given it a second thought when Cho Chang's daughter wasn't put into Ravenclaw, because he couldn't have cared less who Cho Chang – now Tennant – was; Fred, who loved her loved her loved her loved her.

The door in front of her opened and the fiancée she had just been thinking about poked his head in. "Didn't know you'd be home," Fred told her, grinning.

"Where else would I be?"

Fred leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. "I don't know – working for that batty witch who's got you as her Junior Assistant?"

Barbara giggled. "I'm not sure she'd like being called a 'batty witch'."

"Why not? She's both of those." Fred continued down the corridor out of the kitchen and into their shared bedroom, pulling off his shirt as he went. "The shop was _mad_ today. Hogwarts kids trying to stock up on stuff to get them out of lessons, I reckon."

Barbara looked over her shoulder at him. He'd left the door open while he changed out of his work clothes. "Sounds like something you'd condone."

From the bedroom, Fred let out a loud laugh. "Don't blame me for delinquency of contemporary youth, Barbs!" He sighed. "I suppose it's all they can do at that school when avoiding death by dark wizard or massive hulking spider."

* * *

Shelley Corner turned the page of _The Daily Prophet_ with an almost lazy flick of her wrist. She sat in an underground wizard pub in Edinburgh, which was not underground in a literal sense but rather in a secretive one. Her hair flowed down her back in waves of deep chestnut and the severity of her physical appearance could have felled a hippogriff, with her piercing wide eyes and crimson stained lips. She paid no attention to the other pub patrons, which made many of them even more interested in the dark-haired girl with the English accent.

Shelley had come to visit one Tabitha Perkins, with whom she had been well acquainted at school – or at least as close as Shelley could get to 'well acquainted' with anyone.

Tabitha opened the door to the pub and spotted her friend almost immediately. "Shelley!"

Shelley's eyes lit up, and she stood so to embrace Tabitha. "How _are_ you, babe?" She pressed a kiss to the air beside Tabitha's cheek, then pulled back to survey her. "Goodness me – you're looking a right stunner, aren't you? Have you been travelling or something?"

Tabitha blushed. She ran a hand through her hair, which Shelley had remembered being much mousier than its now mahogany shade. "Nowhere sunny, I'm afraid," she replied, sitting down opposite Shelley. "Just Bulgaria for a few weeks and then Romania for a month."

"Ooh – what were you seeing in Romania?"

Tabitha shrugged. "Dragons, mostly."

"Mostly? What, not get any hot Romanian action?"

"No – I met Louis' uncle Charlie, though. He's a laugh."

Shelley raised her eyebrows. "Oh – yes – because Louis's over there too, isn't he? Did you go and see him?"

Again, Tabitha blushed. This time her ears went pick, too – a fact not ignored by Miss Corner. "Yeah, we caught up."

"You were a bit keen on him at school, weren't you?"

"What? I – "

"Tabs, you've gone redder than Lily Potter's hair. Question: _how do I know_? Answer: I'm Shelley Corner, babe, I see all."

It took Tabitha a couple of moments, during which Shelley smirked and pushed her _Daily Prophet_ under her handbag, and then she said, "I did see him in Romania, yeah – apparently, Sennen Cartwright from my Muggle Studies class told Albus Potter that I was going to be around, and then Albus told Louis, so he knew I was in the country; he made a point of giving me a tour of the place where they're keeping the dragons and all that, which I found really interesting because I've read a lot about dragons and – "

" – You want to be a magizoologist, don't you?"

" – Yeah, I do," Tabitha smiled. "So – "

" – Bugger my giddy aunt, you two would be _such _a pair, I just – "

Tabitha shook her head in disbelief, but there was fondness in her tone. "_Shelley_."

* * *

"Merlin and Agrippa, you are actually an absolute loser," Lily cackled.

Her cousin Lucy paused halfway through the application of her prefect badge and stared at Lily, questioning. Lucy could not figure out what was so hilarious about a letter from Lily's eldest brother that it could have the girl verbally responding.

"It's from James," Lily explained.

"Oh, I gathered that. What's he said that's got you doubled over in hysterics?"

Lily giggled again. She looked back down at the letter. "First, it's the sheer fact that he's trying so hard to be casual about something that the total lack of casualness in it is more obvious than Ravenclaw's impending loss in the Quidditch Cup. Second, it's that what James is trying absurdly hard and failing to be casual about is _Cordelia Gilbert_."

Lucy raised one eyebrow. "His ex-girlfriend of three years who now works for your mum?"

Lily, eyes watering with suppressed mirth, nodded. "The very same."

"Right – what's going on?"

"They're meeting up for lunch next week. Well, she doesn't know that they are yet – he's planning to casually stop by when his mum's not there and strike up conversation with Cordelia, which will somehow lead to him making an off-hand remark about this nice place at the top end of Diagon Alley and how _hey, the two of them should go next week sometime_."

"And your twenty-year-old brother just _told_ you this?"

"Let's be fair, he's not the best at keeping things up his sleeve."

"Or understanding that everything has its time, apparently."

* * *

Fred Weasley furrowed his eyebrows. He had his arms crossed and was leaning against the kitchen bench at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, where his cousin James had been living since finishing school. James himself was seated, his feet up on the long rectangular dining table that was rarely used but often convenient – like it was at the present.

"You're just back to acting like your eighteen-year-old self again, and sorry, but I really can't stand that bloke."

James pulled a face. "I'm not!"

Fred snorted. "Yes, you _are_. Face it, mate – you can't be friends with that girl. And now you're off to try and get lunch with her and sweep her off the feet she's already magically charmed to the ground. Doesn't any of this strike a chord?"

His cousin looked smug. "Strike a what?"

"I hate you," said Fred, rolling his eyes.

There was a loud crack then, the sound of Apparition. James and Fred both turned in the direction of the noise – the open door to the corridor, which led into the living room and the staircase to the rest of the house. Footsteps followed momentarily, and then Barbara Tennant appeared, looking somewhat concerned. "You don't mind that I just popped in, did you?"

James smirked. "No – in fact, the love of your life was just telling me how much of a miserable idiot I am."

Barbara smiled, crossing the room to Fred. "Why's that? Are you being one more so than usual?"

"Hilarious."

Fred pecked a kiss on Barbara's cheek and wound an arm around her waist. "He presumes he's taking Cordelia Gilbert out to lunch next week."

"Does Cordelia know this?"

"Not yet," said James, faux-introspectively. "I'm going to casually ask tomorrow in such a way that isn't so much asking and seems more like suggesting."

"You've thought about this a lot, I see."

"He has, hasn't he?"

Barbara turned to James, now more kindness and less teasing. "Cordelia did mention she ran into you in Diagon Alley – but I didn't think you'd be dissecting it so much – Merlin, James, doesn't three years change anything?"

He sighed, dragging his feet off the table and back to the floor. He sat up straighter, investigating his hands, which were knit together in front of him. "This is going to sound mental, but fancying her's just sort of become a permanent state of being, if that makes sense? I can't help but get those stupid jitters on the off chance I see her – I perk up like a tense hippogriff if someone says her name – I am _literally_ the equivalent of a fanatic twelve-year-old girl and it's disgusting."

Fred suddenly looked very serious. "Is this why it didn't work out with that bird from the Wonder Witches?"

"Yeah, I guess. The problem is that no one's ever going to compare to her and I always seem to want them to. I don't know. It's daft." James shrugged.

"It's okay," said Barbara. "I don't like the Wonder Witches anyway."

* * *

"Mum," said James rather blankly. "You're not meant to be here."

Ginny Potter stared at him. "Neither are you. This is the _Prophet_ office."

"No," he groaned. "You're meant to be in _Sunderland_. For the rural league playoffs."

"Oh, I was going to go," she said, "but I sent Cordelia instead. She's not been out to a match in ages." She noticed the look on her son's face and narrowed her eyes. "What's this about, James? Why'd you come to your mum's office and then complain about your mum _being_ there?"

James, turning to reach for the door, laughed.

"Where are you off to now, you nutcase?"

Halfway out of the office, James called back, "Sunderland!"

* * *

Gabbie Sterling, sixteen-year-old Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, sat at a cluttered table in the library with her Charms notes spread out in front of her. She tucked a few stray strands of pale blonde hair behind her ear and set about work on her fifth page of notes in preparation for one of the theoretical tests they had coming up. She was trying her best to stay focused, but there was very little to be done about her wandering mind that bounced from Quidditch plays to Muggle music to the fact that it was Hugo Weasley who had introduced her to said Muggle music.

They were quite good friends, Gabbie and Hugo. She had known him since she was thirteen and, he, fourteen; they had become friends slowly and then after a while it became inconceivable that they had ever _not_ been.

Given their three-year friendship and their continuous pushing and shoving and banter and big bear hugs on train platforms, there was not much that Gabbie did not know about Hugo, and vice versa. Perhaps one thing that stood out was his complete and utter lack of romantic interest in _anyone_. Over the years, she'd asked about girls, then asked about boys, then asked if he actually felt that way or did not, but Hugo had a habit of talking his way out of things and she'd never wanted to push things too far.

As if on cue, someone's arms wound around her shoulders from behind. "You're like Rose, holing yourself up in here."

Gabbie looked up, taking in Hugo's newly cut hair and just how far he had to leaning down to get his arms around a seated friend. She returned the grin on his face and pulled out the chair beside her. "Well, you'd better join me then."

Hugo did so. "This Charms?" He asked, gesturing to the mass of papers in front of them.

"Yeah."

"New teacher's good, isn't she?"

"Patil? I like her." After a moment, Gabbie asked, "what'd you need me for, presuming you didn't just happen to be here?"

Hugo sighed, half smiling. He scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, about that – first off, your mate Melina might be a bit mad with me. I managed to run into her five times and asked where you were every time and she got pretty tired of that pretty quickly." Gabbie chuckled and Hugo's eyes followed her. "And, uh, I was coming to find you because Ella Stebbins asked me in Ancient Runes if we were going out."

Gabbie raised an eyebrow. "I reckon she's got her eye on you, Ella Stebbins." She shifted in her seat to face him directly. "What'd you tell her?"

"'Nah, we're just mates,'" Hugo replied, his ears slightly pink. "What makes you think she's keen on me?"

"Well, I don't know," said Gabbie slowly. "She's always looking at you in the Great Hall, and she tried to sit beside you in the stands at the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff Quidditch match last year. I think you'd be a bit of her type – you know, tall, bright, vaguely oblivious and ginger."

"Am I vaguely oblivious or vaguely ginger?"

"Oblivious. You're certainly ginger, Hugo."

He gave her a peculiar little look then, almost dizzyingly fond. Gabbie had caught him like that before, usually in moments where she didn't think he thought she could see him. After three years, though, Gabbie was done trying to dissect him. She moved back to a diagonal angle. It was more comfortable on her shoulders than smashing one of them against the back of a chair.

"Ella Stebbins," Hugo murmured to himself.

"She's very clever."

"I know lots of clever girls. 'Clever' doesn't sell it."

Gabbie looked at him. "Is this you finally divulging something about your romantic tastes… for the first time since you were fourteen?" She laughed a little bit.

Hugo smacked her arm lightly with the back of his fingers. "Oi!" He smirked. "I could say the same of you, Miss Disinterested In Anyone And Everyone."

Gabbie glared at him. "I'm not disinterested!"

"Oh? Name one person you've ever fancied."

She rolled her eyes at him. "You, sir, are incredibly childish."

"You're avoiding the question."

"Only as much as you are."

Hugo winked at her. "That avoidance is the oars to our Fred boat."

"They're getting married, though," Gabbie scoffed. "This weekend. Not much of an in-love-with-your-best-friend-who-doesn't-notice boat if you end up married to them."

Hugo shrugged. "I reckon it's okay."

* * *

"Three things," said Albus upon entering the kitchen of the Bristol bakeshop and closing the door. "First – if that out front is your _slow hour_, then I'd hate to see it at peak time. Second – how can nobody tell you're using magic to make these considering the speed at which you bake everything? Third – Sennen, if possible, I think I am in love with your apron."

Sennen, who was busy Charming the Muggle machinery, looked over her shoulder and beamed at him. "Nice to meet a fan!" She rolled her eyes. "Your girlfriend's not too fond of it."

Across the kitchen, Andy's eyes widened. "I only said it _wasn't my style_ – not that _you_ didn't rock it!"

"Thanks, dearest," Sennen replied. After a moment, she seemed to have counted that the only two employees of their business were in the kitchen and that no one was paying attention to the counter outside. "Fiddlesticks – I'd better go and man the front of house."

She hurried past Albus and ducked through the door. Andy monitored the machines on the bench, made sure the measurements were accurate, and then turned back to her boyfriend. "It's nice of you to come up, you know."

Albus followed her across the room and leaned his head on her shoulder, for she had averted her attention to work. "I miss seeing you every day."

He could feel her chuckling. "Always happy to hear that. Though you _are_ a ninny, coming and trying to distract me from my booming baking business," she added.

"Sorry I can only come weekends."

"Why can't you just live up here? It'd be so much easier, and you could train at the Cardiff Aurors' Branch instead of in London."

Albus shook his head. "London's where the best are trained, and even if I came here and went to Cardiff, I'd still have to get referrals from London anyway."

"Apparition's a thing, you know."

"But if they send you an owl in the night, shouldn't you be there immediately?"

Andy sighed, putting her wand into the front pocket of her apron and taking a few steps away from Albus. She tried to busy herself with manually wiping up a worktop. Albus followed with a groan. "I'm not trying to be difficult, you know, I'm just – "

" – Being a realist?" Andy still didn't look at him. "That's my job, isn't it?"

Albus laughed, half lost in a sigh, yet loud enough for Andy to hear.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"We're turning into an old bickering couple," he replied, green eyes scrunched up at the edges from the way he was smiling. "Nineteen and we're in our sixties."

Andy couldn't suppress a grin. "You dork." She extended a hand and took his in it, and then pulled herself to him. "Listen here, Cute-Face Magee, you are my almost-Auror boyfriend, and we will make some kind of relationship work out, no matter where the both of us are living. Clear?"

Albus nodded down at her. "Crystal."

They were very close now, a couple of inches apart. Andy moved to kiss Albus, but the door of the kitchen flew open.

Sennen gave little notice to her colleague and her colleague's boyfriend and how close together they were standing. Instead, she said, "There's someone out here who wants to speak to you about your sugar cookies!"

Andy looked to Al and gave his hand a squeeze. After kissing him quickly on the cheek, she turned her attention to Sennen and the matter outside the kitchen door. "Let's get cracking, eh?"

Albus could only watch her go.


	2. A Long-Awaited Wedding

**author's note:** what doesn't belong to JKR belongs to me, and vice versa.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

"**Pish, Pash, Posh, and a Long-Awaited Wedding"**

**Or**

"**Mama Told Me Not To Waste My Life"**

* * *

"And there's been an appearance by Montrose Magpies Chaser James Potter!" said the _Witch Weekly_ reporter to her Quick-Quotes Quill. James, who had – upon Apparating – stumbled almost directly into an interview, managed a nervous smile. "I didn't know you were a fan of the rural league, James."

"Oh, yeah," he said absently, eyes inspecting the press area, a top box overlooking the pitch. "Love teams from the West Country. Uh, you haven't seen the _Prophet_ correspondent, have you?"

The witch's eyes, heavy with bright purple make-up and magically lengthened lashes, lit up. Her red-painted mouth split into a big smile. "Miss Gilbert?"

James didn't want to confirm this, as he could see the Quick-Quotes Quill poised to strike. With great apprehension, he nodded.

"So you two are still in touch?"

"We're friends," he said succinctly, back to scanning the room.

"You're – "

" – Not going to run that, are you, Winifred?"

Both James and the _Witch Weekly_ reporter stopped dead. They turned in the direction of the voice – Cordelia Gilbert's – and found the tall journalist, a penguin blue Quick-Quotes Quill in her hand, paused halfway down a roll of parchment. James had rarely seen her working, but it was similar to watching her play Quidditch; her hair was tied, her face focused. She had her eyes on the _Witch Weekly_ parchment, and did not seem pleased by what she found there.

"I'm just trying to do a feature on rural Quidditch leagues for those ladies who are interested," said Winifred the reporter.

"And apparently those ladies are also interested in James's sculpted jawline and how it clenched at the mention of _me_? How he sounded 'wounded' when he said we were friends, and only friends?" Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Circe Above, I'm hoping you're not serious about that."

James felt himself going red and willed both of the witches in front of him not to notice.

"We have to spice things up a _bit_, Cordelia."

"By lacing everything with literal fabrications, I see – _please_ don't say I'm being protective over my 'old flame' and displaying a delicate disposition."

Winifred's Quick-Quotes Quill skidded to a halt and Cordelia's waved at the end like an antsy rattlesnake.

"You're going to miss the results of the match," Winifred pointed out.

Cordelia smiled. "My quill's Charmed to pick up any changes in score, which is why it's Quick-Quotes. I fear the intentions of yours are not so athletic."

Winifred skulked off, leaving James and Cordelia together. He looked at her with raised eyebrows. "You're a stone cold reporter, Poppins. I was afraid for that witch's life."

Cordelia laughed. "_Please_, you've got to be assertive in this game – Quidditch _and_ journalism. Weren't you bothered by what she was saying?"

"I wasn't paying enough attention, to be honest."

"Distracted by the game?"

"Looking for you, actually."

"Oh?"

James raised his arms in mock surrender. "Just a friendly gesture – no romantic intentions, no surprise kisses. I remember you liking red velvet," he improvised, "so I thought I'd tell you about this new café up the top of Diagon Alley that does it really well."

Cordelia smiled. "_Philomena's_?"

"How'd you know?"

She shrugged. "I like red velvet."

James' hand moved to his then-rumpled hair, then it trailed down the back of his neck. "So – uh – you've been there, then."

"Yep."

"Nothing new?"

Cordelia shook her head, somewhat curious. "Nope…?"

"Cool," said James after a few seconds. "Are you – uh – going to Fred and Barbara's wedding?"

Cordelia looked puzzled. "Yeah?"

At this moment, it became quite obvious that things were not going the way James had planned them to. However, he had never been one to let on any kind of surprise or setback in social situations. He momentarily regrouped.

"Not bringing a burly Scotsman as your date, are you? Because if you are then that might seriously dampen the prospect of the two of us accidentally bumping into each other in pursuit of champagne."

"I don't think that would be too much of a disappointment," said Cordelia, "considering what happened last time you and I attended a wedding at the Burrow."

The smile faded from James's face. "How are you, these days? With all that stuff?"

Cordelia noticed his sober tone, and replied, "It's been three years since the thing you're thinking about and two years since the thing no one can forget." Her eyes left James and focused on the game, in which the two Seekers were spiraling through the goalposts at the opposite end of the pitch. "I miss all of them very much," she admitted, smiling. "I think about them all the time."

"Adrian Bell?"

The Seeker of the home team had just caught the Snitch and Cordelia's Quick-Quotes Quill went berserk.

"Let's just say he's the reason I can see Thestrals."

James's eyes widened. "Holy – " He breathed out the words. "Cordelia, I had no idea that he – that you were actually…"

"'_You're a sweet girl, Cordelia_,'" she said bitterly. Turning to James, she explained, "Adrian Bell was twenty-four years old and struggling for breath and dying on the floor of the Entrance Hall and the only person there to help him was a silly seventeen-year-old girl." Her face had hardened. There was no smile now, and it scared him. "My name was the last thing he ever said."

James didn't know what to say to her, but Cordelia did not seem to need a response. In a few seconds, she composed herself and focused on the parchment that her Quick-Quotes Quill had very nearly filled. The game was over, and other reporters were beginning to Disapparate.

"But there's nothing anyone can do about that now," Cordelia told James in a voice that seemed falsely chipper. "The least we can all do is move on and be happy in the world that was left for us. I came here to do a job – for your mum, in fact – and now I've done that. I need to get back to the _Prophet_ office and turn these notes into something coherent."

James cracked a smile. "That's good of you. No burly Scotsman, then?"

Cordelia made a disparaging noise. "No, James – honestly. Don't you think, as the best man, you've got more to do for the wedding than ask if I've got a date?"

"Well, yeah, but I reckon you're pretty important, Poppins."

* * *

The entire Tennant-Weasley Wedding was beautiful; it managed to be lavish and intimate at the same time, and there was lots of smiling done by lots of people. Roxanne was a bridesmaid, as was Cordelia, and one of Barbara's older Muggle cousins, a pretty Asian girl named Jiao. Molly the Younger was the maid of honour.

Fred had James and Felix as groomsmen, because James was his best friend and Felix made him look tall. They were very much in love, Barbara and Fred, and the ceremony could not have been any more perfectly suited.

About halfway through the reception, while Fred and Barbara were going around the room and speaking to everyone under the sun, James pulled his cousin Dominique onto the dance floor.

"You _do_ know the two of us are going to decapitate anyone within a five foot radius if we end up _actually_ dancing," she reminded him.

James grinned. "Oh, I'm counting on that. With our incomparable good looks and enviable dance moves, none of Barbara's co-workers will try to chat me up."

Dominique raised her eyebrows at him and began to dance as freely as her dress would allow. "So basically we're just busting a move so no one else can?"

"Love you, Dom," James reassured her.

A fast-paced song began to play, courtesy of the wedding band – which was actually Elena Finnigan's – and James and Dominique sped up their dancing to match it. Over on the other side of the room, Andy and Albus stood with Louis and Tabitha Perkins, discussing Andy's success in the Muggle world and Louis and Tabitha's joined fascination with magical animals.

"It's absolute insanity," said Albus proudly, one arm around Andy's waist. "Sennen's up in Bristol now manning the fort with some Irish Lucy who isn't our cousin," he added to Louis.

Tabitha, who was inspecting the dance floor with a half-full champagne flute in her hand, smiled. "How _is _Lucy?"

"Head Girl," said Albus, as though that summarized everything. "It's all a bit mad come seventh year, though, isn't it?"

"It's a _web_ of turmoil," Andy quipped. "Wait – was that insensitive?"

"Probably," her boyfriend replied. "Do you want to dance? I'm sure there's somewhere we won't be killed by James and Dom."

They went off and joined the other couples dancing, while Tabitha and Louis continued their discussion of Romania and its dragon colonies.

"You've _got_ to see Uncle Charlie at some point – he's probably under some table singing _Odo the Hero_ by now!"

Louis pulled Tabitha along by the hand, past Rose and her boyfriend Will Bowen, past Roxanne and _her_ boyfriend Chris Wood (who were playing footsie under the table while arguing about the upcoming Puddlemere vs. Holyhead game in which they were both playing), away from the dance floor and over to where he guessed his uncle was, at the table behind two of his aunts.

Angelina Weasley kissed her sister-in-law on the cheek and stood up from where she had been quite comfortably sitting for most of the reception. "I should probably go and make the social rounds – mother of the groom and all that. Merlin knows what George'll do if I leave him alone with the Changs, or those poor Muggles by the house."

Ginny laughed. "Just go and talk to Cho about how beautiful her girl looks. That's always a safe route."

"Then why've you not taken it?" Angelina laughed. The section of her dark hair that was not in tight braids swished around her shoulders.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'm not sure how much she'd like her ex-boyfriend's wife striking up conversation at her daughter's wedding. I'd prefer not to think of my sixteen-year-old self facing mountains of grief on Lily's special day, just personally."

Angelina considered that Ginny very well could have been referring to herself instead of Cho Tennant, but she didn't pursue the topic. She extracted a champagne flute from an icebox as it hovered past their table, and went to join the Chang-Tennants, a cluster of whom Teddy Lupin and his son were already entertaining.

A little across the way, Teddy's wife had just hurried up to her new cousin-in-law and exclaimed, "Oh, Barbs, you look _gorgeous!_"

The bride blushed. "Thank you," she said initially, and then added, "sorry I haven't spoken to you sooner – everyone's been wanting a chat. Thanks for doing all of this... and with your baby on the way, too, Victoire – speaking of – where's the lovely little guy now?"

Victoire smiled. "Teddy's got him. He's having a bit of a play with the fact that he's" – by _he_, – "slightly metamorphic." She laughed. "I think he likes being ginger, though. Teddy's always done the 'blue' thing."

"Oh, but you've always loved the blue thing, haven't you?"

Teddy ran up to them then, having left Barbara's side of the family; he held his son tightly, and the baby's hair was bright red, while his father's remained the usual turquoise. He sandwiched Victoire between the two of them and said to Barbara loudly, "look, Barbs, we're the primary colours!"

* * *

Scorpius decided, with a groan, that he should not have left the balcony doors open. They were floor-to-ceiling glass, with intermittent wooden lines running in amongst them, separated from the penthouse balcony itself by a layer of translucent silk curtains. These curtains were now flapping open in the wind, letting rain in onto the floor of the spacious living room from where it splattered on the tiles outside. Albus, who was sprawled out on the couch, watched as his friend shut the doors and calmed the curtains with one flick of his wrist. Scorpius collapsed onto the comfy armchair he'd stolen from his parents' house, shirtless and understandably lethargic.

"I'm too lazy for Pepper-Up Potions," he yawned.

"Pity," said Al, "Lily's very good at them."

"Oh – is she? I had no idea such thoroughbred Gryffindors had any talent at such a Slytherin art."

Al rolled his eyes. "We're all flesh underneath, red tie or green one. Lily's the best at potion-making," he mused, "and I'm best with spells, probably. James would be good at everything besides sports if he wasn't so lazy." Al chuckled. "Actually, I take that back – he's rubbish with runes."

Scorpius smirked. "Good to know Wonder Boy's bad at something. You know, beyond choosing girlfriends who aren't Cordelia." Ignoring the expression on his friend's face, Scorpius jumped up from his seat. "D'you want a drink or something? I should've offered earlier – you're welcome to the cupboards – anything you like?"

"Nah, mate, I'm fine. You should go back to bed, you look shattered."

"Night shifts, underground wizard pub near Blackfriar's."

Al gave a nonchalant shrug. "Nobody's got anything funny to say about a Malfoy tending bar at a sketchy pub?"

"It's not sketchy – it's elite, pretty much, if you don't pay attention to what Gilly Vane's trying to sell in the corner." Scorpius returned to his armchair, curling up in a manner almost catlike. "If anyone asks, I go for _Greengrass_. Wish I didn't hate both sides of my family, though." He seemed to be considering it in his head. "Has your brother still got that tapestry of my family tree on the wall at his place?"

"If he hasn't covered it with Quidditch posters, I'd say so. My parents blasted a whole lot of names off it after the war, though. Added a few back as well, like my dad's godfather."

Scorpius closed his eyes, sighing. "I'd much rather have been a Black."

"Oh?"

He half-smiled. "Dad used to make me learn the genealogy, just of the past few generations – he liked telling me which relatives he had that were actually decent, starting with my grandmother. From what I gather, her generation of Blacks were a good enough bunch – she was one of them, and all of the rest ended up doing _something_ with themselves as far as he can tell."

"Besides Bellatrix, of course?"

"How do you know so much?"

Al laughed. "I was practically raised in that townhouse, mate; my dad did the same thing yours did."

"Guess the ties don't change much, then."

"Guess not."

Albus edged over on the couch, so to be closer to Scorpius, as though what he was about to say was being shared in the closest of confidences.

"You know," he said, "when I was eleven and going off to school for the first time, I was absolutely terrified of being put in your house."

"What – Malfoy Manor? Don't blame you, mate – "

" – no, you interrupting prat – Slytherin. James kept riling me up, telling me what I would be put there for all sorts of reasons, like my middle name and who I wanted to meet at those awful dos that Slughorn planned, and I was just absolutely off my head about it."

Scorpius raised an eyebrow, opening his again-closed eyes to do so. "Really?"

"Well, not crying or anything, but you know how people let things eat them up inside."

Scorpius nodded.

"Anyway – my dad told me that it didn't matter where I got put, that there were no prejudices that really mattered, and wherever I went, I'd be excellent." Al wondered if he sounded at all wistful. He hadn't intended the story to be even this longwinded. "This has only come back to me because I'm just thinking – so many of my best friends were in Slytherin. My uncle Ron even pointed you out at one point, to Rose of all people. Would things really have been so bad if I'd been put in a dormitory with you for seven years?"

"I don't know, mate, I think I would've got sick of having to stay up every night listening to you philosophize about things like this."

Scorpius laughed at him, and Albus scowled.

"You know, you're a really good friend, you are. I come here because you're lonely without your girlfriend and we go from my sister to Grimmauld Place to something I've never told anyone, and now you're taking the piss."

Scorpius continued laughing. "In all fairness, Al, that _is_ kind of my life motto."

"What – 'find out personal stuff and then take the piss'?"

"Yeah, more or less."

Al glared at him. "Maybe Uncle Ron was right."

"Nah, don't trust a ginger."

"Oi! That's my uncle!"

"It's also your sister and your mum and your cousins," Scorpius added, "and I've kissed at least one of those."

"You're not improving your case."

He chuckled. "I know, but I'm having fun doing it."

* * *

At the end of October, when Barbara and Fred had long returned from their honeymoon and Lily had pioneered a Quidditch match that ended in tears from the Slytherin Quidditch team, Patricia Day had returned from her Tumbleweed tour. She now sat in the middle of the empty Leaky Cauldron, with her boyfriend on one side, and Albus and Sennen on the other.

"What's Andy up to, then?" she asked of the latter two. "I was under the impression we were all supposed to hang out when I got back."

Sennen sipped her lemonade and looked to Albus as though she expected him to respond. Beyond a shrug, he did not. Sennen straightened up and said, "She's just a bit busy with work. There's a big catering thing we've been asked to do by the florist across the street, this Muggle named Alex, and Andy's taken a firm hand on that."

"But weren't you lot meant to be coming to the gig? I got you two tickets, Al!"

The gig in question was Tumbleweed's performance at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, which had most of the young wizard community buzzing. It was going to be held on a weekend when the students from Hogwarts would be visiting, which Patricia had carefully orchestrated to make sure they maximized on attendance and profit. Lily had already written to Al about how interested everybody was, and he'd been hoping to go with Andy, but she'd complained – again – about the work she needed to do for this catering job.

"That's why Sennen's here," said Albus, pointing to the girl beside him.

"You've heard Tumbleweed's stuff?" Patricia asked her, bemused.

"Oh, yeah – I'm really keen on it, actually. That Harrison bloke's half Turner and half Morrissey, and I'm nearly infatuated."

Patricia and Scorpius exchanged a glance. "_Morrissey?_" Scorpius mouthed confusedly. (Sennen was Muggleborn; therefore her pop culture references were falling on deaf ears.)

"Anyway, I asked Sennen if she wanted to come since Andy didn't," Al was saying, "so those two tickets you've given me are being put to use."

"Awesome!" said Patricia, mentally counting off the tickets she knew had sold. "We've got a large Hogwarts taking – I sent about a hundred to Mitchell Gilbert and he's already asked for two more lots, because everyone's so into it."

"Is Cordelia going?" asked Scorpius, with a look towards Al.

"I don't know," said Patricia, "I've not asked again since I initially offered."

"She's just down the road," said Sennen. "I'm sure you could ask her once everything's finished up here." Al glanced at her, looking inquisitive. "We like the same Muggle music," Sennen explained. "She'd be into Tumbleweed and I'd definitely prefer having her around to not."

Patricia considered it. "Well, we'll see. I don't know if there's a match that day or – "

" – I'll ask James – " Albus put in.

" – She mightn't be put on it, either way. I've not seen much of Cordelia in a while," Scorpius said ruefully. "It'd be good to catch up."

Patricia nodded, her expression wistful. "She's been busy, that girl."

Al smirked. "And you haven't?"

"That's different," she replied with a grin, casting a cursory glance to the watch on her left wrist. "Oh!" Patricia suddenly jumped, as though she had been pinched. "My shift at Flourish and Blott's starts in five minutes – Terry's going to kill me!"

She quickly pressed a kiss to Scorpius's cheek and shuffled past Sennen and Albus on her way out of the pub. Scorpius looked at the vacant space beside him, then slid over so he was beside Sennen. Al leaned forward on the table to address him better. "Why is it we always seem to find ourselves this way?"

"What way's that?" Sennen asked, looking down at Albus, who was now partially right in front of her.

Scorpius laughed. "Every time we come to the Leaky Cauldron, our girlfriends end up leaving – and it's one other person, like you and Lily, for example, who stick around."

Sennen looked affronted. "Well it's not as though I've got much of a choice, sandwiched between the two of you!"

Al patted her friendlily on the arm. "Scorpius didn't mean for that to sound as clumsy as it did," he reassured her with a fond look in the blond boy's direction. "He's only good with words when he's weaseling his way out of trouble or trying to change the world."

* * *

Hugo pushed his way past a gang of third year girls and dodged a flying pumpkin. Lily stood in the middle of the Entrance Hall, nearly oblivious to the end-of-Halloween shenanigans surrounding her while she conversed with Gabbie Sterling. Worry passed through Hugo's chest, because Lily was laughing and Gabbie looked horrified and _what if Lily had told something embarrassing about him?_

Hugo sidled into place beside the two girls. He was so much taller than the both of them, who were nearly matched for height. Lily grinned at him. "Hey, Hugo. I was just telling Gabbie here about Poppy Coote's complete blunder in practice the other day."

His anxiety assuaged, Hugo found a smile. "When she hit Peakes in the face with her bat instead of the Bludger?"

Gabbie nodded, biting her lip in an obvious attempt to keep from laughing.

"I didn't actually know you two were friends," said Hugo.

"We're the two female Quidditch captains," Lily explained, swiveling close enough to Gabbie to put an arm around her. "We've got to stick together."

"And then crush each other come next term," Gabbie added with a giggle.

"Oh, of course – that goes without saying."

Hugo glanced from Gabbie to Lily, the latter of whom had a curious look on her face. He quirked an eyebrow at her and she shrugged infinitesimally. He'd grown wary of that look and that shrug and all of a sudden Hugo felt he was treading on very thin ice after all.

"We'd better make sure we train up our Keeper, eh, Gabbie?" said Lily, casting glances from the Ravenclaw to her cousin. "You lot always manage to get a few past him."

Gabbie smirked. "That, we do," she replied, "but don't worry too much. I've already been informed by two of my Chasers that they're afraid of you – both of you." She laughed. "It's funny, actually. Jill Edgecombe's got a soft spot for this long-nosed idiot" – she pointed to Hugo – "and Mason Ashby's a bit star struck at the prospect of even being on the same pitch as a _Potter and a Weasley_." She rolled her eyes. "I worry about my team sometimes."

"I'd worry about your team all the time, if I were you," muttered Lily, and both girls laughed.

"Yeah, Ravenclaw's not what it was when we had Will and Cordelia."

"Mitchell's not too bad a Keeper, though, is he?" asked Hugo.

"No – he's really good," said Gabbie, "I was just hoping for a much more cohesive team than I ended up getting, I guess."

"Understandable." Lily inspected her shoes in a gesture of mourning.

Suddenly, there was a call of "Gabbie!" from across the hall, and a cluster of Ravenclaw sixth-years appeared. Gabbie turned around, waved to them, and then averted her attention. "You two don't mind, do you?"

"'Course not," said Lily, unwinding her arm from around Gabbie's shoulders.

"You going to be holed up in the library later?" Hugo asked quickly, before Gabbie could depart.

"Yeah," she said, "if you will."

Then she trotted off to join her friends. When they were all very far out of earshot, Lily turned to Hugo. "I like her," she said of Gabbie. "And so do you."

Hugo raised his eyebrows. "What _are_ you talking about?"

"Well, I know you fancied her back in fifth year, but I wasn't sure if it'd carried on. Now I am, though."

"How do you know?" he asked desperately, hoping very much that it wasn't something Gabbie herself had noticed.

"_Please_," Lily groaned. "You look at her like you've just seen the Cannons beat Holyhead."

"Rubbish!" said Hugo. "I look at her the same way I've always looked at her!"

"Then you've obviously been looking infatuated with her for about three years, mate."

Hugo's ears had gone a deep shade of maroon and Lily laughed. He scowled at her. "You know, one day when you actually fancy someone, I am going to take the piss to such an extent that you will literally drown in it."

"Ew. _Hugo_."

"I didn't really think that one through."

"No, you didn't." Lily stuck her tongue out in disgust. "Let's forget that ever happened."

"Yes, please, let's."


	3. Reaching Out

**author's note:** this continues to belong to Rowling and I continue to hope you like it.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

"**Reaching Out"**

**Or**

"**A Dip in My Daydreams"**

* * *

Lily Luna Potter was not the type to frequent near-claustrophobic concerts, especially not at three in the afternoon. The Three Broomsticks had been magically darkened, all outside sound obliterated. The atmosphere of the establishment was hazy and glittering, with students from thirteen to seventeen pressed together in close quarters, dancing with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Tumbleweed's Hogsmeade performance had become rather a popular topic of discussion over the past couple of weeks; it was highly likely that many of the people in the crowd had never heard a single song by the band in question, but had paid the necessary Sickles ticket fee so to not be left out. Everybody seemed to be enjoying things now. Lucy was dancing with Philip Smith of Hufflepuff, Hugo kept looking hopefully in Gabbie Sterling's direction – Jeremy Peakes had asked Lily to dance about five minutes previous, but she wasn't too keen on it. Her brother was around here somewhere, with Sennen Cartwright and probably Scorpius, too, if he wasn't busy snogging his girlfriend backstage.

"Hey, you," came a voice from right behind her.

Lily turned with a start. Scorpius Malfoy stood with his arms folded, eyeing her and grinning. She mirrored his pose. "Hey, _you_."

Scorpius laughed. "Enjoying it?"

Lily shrugged. "I like the songs, I guess, but the entire thing's not really my cup of tea."

"Why's that?"

"I guess I'm more of a sports girl than a _Tumbleweed_."

He smiled, nodding. "I get that."

They stood side by side, Scorpius much taller than Lily, and surveyed the large group of people dancing and enjoying the music.

"Are you here with someone?" Scorpius asked after a quick ukulele solo by Benji Marchbanks.

Lily shook her head. "Just myself," she told him, still watching the crowd. She chuckled. "I mean, Peakes keeps asking me out, but no – that's never happened."

Scorpius raised his eyebrows. "Right – which one's Peakes?"

Lily pointed him out. "The one in red…"

"…dancing with the Harris girl?"

"More like dancing _on_ the Harris girl," Lily muttered, at which Scorpius barked a laugh. Lily turned to him, giggling as well. "Don't have a fit, buddy. I'm always this hilarious and you'll have to keep up."

"I suppose I shall."

Suddenly very aware of their proximity and also the fact she found him obscenely good-looking, Lily averted her attention to the stage, and the band that was on it. She could feel Scorpius watching her, before he, too, looked to Tumbleweed.

"Is Patricia backstage, then?" Lily asked, after a moment of concentrating on Harrison's singing.

"Yeah – she has to keep everything going, make sure they're ready for it all. Boring stuff, really."

Lily smiled.

"Al's here, too. Andy didn't fancy it, though, so he's here with Sennen," Scorpius explained, though Lily was already aware of this. "Must've got lost somewhere in the sea of Hogwarts kids."

"Wow," said Lily. "'Hogwarts kids'? You're quick to separate."

Scorpius nudged her with his elbow. "You know what I mean."

"No I don't," Lily mocked, "I'm a Hogwarts kid!"

"Nonsense – you're not included in the mob that I was referring to."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I like you."

Lily shrugged. "Cool."

Scorpius raised his eyebrows. "You can't just say _cool_ – I paid you a compliment!" He mimicked her shrug and put on a voice. "'Cool'."

"Scorpius – "

"'Hey, Lily, I just saved every house-elf from abusive households.' 'Cool.'"

"That's not – "

"'I literally just built a palace of licorice wands, just for you.' 'Cool.'"

"You're an idiot – "

"'I'm Scorpius Malfoy.' 'Cool.'"

Lily shoved him with her side. "You _cool_ yet?"

"I don't know," he replied, grinning down at her, "am I?"

"No, you're not. You're very, very uncool."

"Cool."

"Oi!"

They were near collapsing with mirth, and Scorpius put an arm around Lily to steady both himself and her. She had a hand on his chest to stop herself toppling backwards. Albus and Sennen emerged from the crowd at that moment, followed by Cordelia, and Al's face went red.

"Done manhandling my sister, Scorpius?" he asked by way of greeting, and Sennen and Cordelia grinned at Lily to signify a _hello_.

Lily's hand slipped very consciously back to her side, and Scorpius removed his arm from where it had been wound around her, coughing pointedly. Lily rolled her eyes at Albus. "Merlin, Al, not like he's going to drop his girlfriend of four years for your seventeen-year-old sister."

It may have been the tricky lighting, but Lily noticed both boys go progressively pinker in the face. She turned her attention to Sennen and Cordelia, the former of whom she did not know very well.

"Have you seen Gabbie?" Lily asked of Cordelia, "I know she was really eager to see you when she found out you were coming."

"Oh, yeah!" said Cordelia. "I just caught up with her – she was with Hugo," she added. "Funny, I always thought there was something going on there, from the owls I received…"

Lily shrugged. "There could be, but nobody's said anything about it."

"Fred and Barbara?" Cordelia surmised.

"Hugo _does_ keep talking about something called a 'Fred boat'," said Lily.

"Oh," said Al. "Well – that'll be it."

Sennen asked, with her eyes trailing over the crowd, undoubtedly in search of Hugo or the Ravenclaw of which they had been speaking, "is Gabbie Sterling the pretty blonde one in blue?"

"Yeah," said Cordelia, while Al pointed to where Gabbie was – as it happened – asking his cousin if he'd like to dance with her.

The five of them continued to watch on as Hugo agreed to do so, and Tumbleweed's lyrics changed from _I had an inkling you'd be here tonight_ to _There's a pool of bougainvillea in the garden_, crooned and vocalized.

"Have you danced at all?" Scorpius asked Lily. "Or have you just been rejecting invitations from boys you know aren't good enough for you?"

Al raised his eyebrows. "What's this?"

Lily ignored him. "I've rejected _one_ invitation, and trust me, it's an invitation I've been rejecting for three years. Honestly, Scorpius, you're worse than Al."

"How?" asked Albus, Scorpius, and Sennen all together, while Cordelia smiled – evidently, she had taken something from this that the others hadn't.

"Never _you_ mind," Lily told Scorpius and Albus, before she beamed at Sennen. "I don't believe we've actually been properly introduced. I'm Lily, and I promise I don't hate everything as much as I seem to."

"Sennen," replied the girl to whom the name belonged, "I bake with Andy. _Well_, she bakes, I market."

"Still doing exceptionally, though, aren't you?" said Cordelia.

"Oh, hell," said Al, "I think that's a bit of an understatement."

"The Muggle newspapers say we're taking Bristol by storm," Sennen told the group. "To infinity and beyond!"

When no one seemed to have cottoned on to the allusion, she added, "That's from a Muggle film. I don't just say things like that."

"You kind of do," Al told her, "but that's why we keep you around."

"I thought it was for my impeccable taste in music!"

"No, that's usually what we've got Patricia for."

"Got me what?" came Patricia's voice. She hurried up to them through a gap in the audience, squeezing past Lily to reach Scorpius, who gave her a high-five that most of the group knew would have commonly been something more.

"Impeccable music taste," Cordelia told her. "You've got it."

"That much is true," said Patricia, nodding her head. "Have you lot been enjoying the music, then? Oh – hello, Lily," she added, perhaps realizing that she had not said anything to the younger girl.

Cordelia beamed enthusiastically. "Yeah, yeah, it's been really good!"

"Sennen's in love with Harrison," Albus noted.

"I am nothing of the sort!" Sennen argued, though she said it fondly.

"I don't blame you," said Patricia, "he's quite a strapping bloke."

"Not as strapping as me, though?" Scorpius asked, smirking.

"Oh, of course not."

"Benji's pretty fit, though," Lily remarked, investigating the bass player. Albus coughed loudly. "I'm seventeen, Al, I can't pretend to be asexual just to make you happy!"

"It'd probably make it easier for Jeremy Peakes to sleep at night," Scorpius quipped.

Lily shot him a look. "Oh, get out of it!"

* * *

"So are we expecting the pitter-patter of tiny feet any time soon?"

James, fourteen minutes into an interview for the December issue of _Behind The Game: A Quidditch Mag_, laughed. "From me?" he asked the reporter, who nodded. James shook his head. "Certainly not, no. I'm incredibly single and unattached."

"I imagine that's good for lots of people to hear."

He looked around the room, a brightly lit chamber in a Manchester. It was a beautiful day outside, as James could tell through the open windows. They were hidden in the depths of the Muggle world, and he could hear the traffic jam outside the building.

"Well, then," said the reporter, "have you considered moving up to Montrose? You live in London – don't you?"

"Yeah," said James. He ran a few fingers along his jawline, a gesture of concentration – and he needed a shave. "I've considered it, but my life outside Quidditch is very London-based; my mates are all there, my parents' work. Plus my family's got a place, and that's where I'm living. I spend a lot of time up in Montrose, yeah, but it's just training and stuff. I mean, I practically lived seven years in Scotland while I was at Hogwarts, so it's… yeah, I'm a London kind of guy, I guess. It's more my speed."

"You say your friends are all in London – who are those, in particular?"

James smiled. "Uh… well, my cousin Fred lives there – he's working at the joke shop – and I've got blokes from the league, like Toby McDonnell from the Arrows," he paused, wondering if the next person was someone he should even include, but then he embraced his usual _I'm James Sirius Potter who cares_ motto, and added, "Cordelia Gilbert from the _Prophet_'s a good friend, too – London's just an easy place to be."

"Is this the girl you dated briefly when you were seventeen?"

"Ten months, yeah."

"And you're still friends?"

James nodded, a fond expression wafting over his face. "Yeah, that's about right."

* * *

Cordelia Gilbert had not taken three steps away from Ginny Potter when she was cornered by a _Behind the Game: A Quidditch Mag_ reporter. The middle-aged man from the magazine was a senior reporter, this much was known to Cordelia – yet she could not quite understand why he would like to talk to her.

"Your boy James has said you two are friendly again, eh?"

Cordelia fought very hard to refrain from rolling her eyes. Did anyone actually want to speak to her these days, or did they just seek her out to insist she was seeing James Potter? "I severely doubt he meant it."

"So you aren't?"

"Oh, we're friends," said Cordelia, "but that's very much it. I haven't seen him in a month or so."

Her conversational partner frowned. "That's no good, is it?"

"We're both busy with our jobs," Cordelia insisted. "I've actually got to _work_ at functions like this – and he's playing in the matches, isn't he? I don't think that's too much of a tragedy."

She began to make her way away from him – she didn't even know this man's _name_, and he was trying to ask her about her personal life! The gall!

"So who are you seeing now, then? Another bloke from the league?"

Cordelia stopped in her tracks. "Nobody," she replied, turning briefly back to face the unnamed reporter. "Where did you get that impression?"

"Well, you've already been out with _one_ professional Quidditch player, I – "

" – _When I was sixteen_," Cordelia snapped. "That was before he even played for the Magpies! I'm going to go now, and I sincerely hope you – or another of your colleagues – will not bring up this topic again."

She sped away, her steps a little more pronounced than she had intended them to be. "The bloody _nerve_ of these so-called 'journalists'," she muttered under her breath. Hurrying to catch up with Ginny, she ignored the reporter calling after her about whether or not her statement could be counted as a comment.

"Did somebody just insult Gwenog Jones?" Ginny asked, noticing Cordelia's disgruntled expression. (They shared a mutual admiration for the manager of the Welsh Quidditch team.)

Cordelia shook her head. "No – just invading my privacy." She half-laughed. "Normal day in the field."

Ginny made a disparaging noise. "Who was it this time? I didn't see _Witch Weekly_ around here…" She turned away from Cordelia, her eyes scanning the room.

"No, no, no – it's not them!" said Cordelia quite quickly. "Don't worry about it, Ginny, it's honestly nothing I'm not used to by now."

They continued walking; the games were over, and Ginny had collected the statements from players while Cordelia had an interview of her own, so they made to leave with the rest of the journalists.

"D'you want to grab lunch?" Ginny asked, holding open the door of the press tent so that Cordelia could go ahead.

"Sure, that'd be lovely," said Cordelia (who was still slightly disbelieving that she was on close terms with the same Ginny Weasley she had read about as a kid). "Philomena's?"

"Yeah, it's been a while since we went."

* * *

November rolled into December with a very literal four inches of snow. The grounds of Hogwarts barely allowed for continued Quidditch practices, for it was so very cold, and even – or perhaps _especially_ – in England, the chilly weather was whipping at noses and ankles in a manner Jack Frost would have been proud of. Barbara Weasley was curled up in her sheets on a particularly dreamlike Sunday morning, and she couldn't tell if the tingles she felt were her nerve endings reacting to the cold or if they were due to the fact that her last name was now, officially, Weasley.

She was smiling, despite being awakened by rain smattering against the thin apartment roof at seven o'clock in the morning, and she continued to smile as she felt a pair of arms pull her closer to her husband.

Her husband. Oh, goodness. That was a notion, wasn't it?

His arms were much darker than hers, and they reminded her of the Cookies-N-Cream ice cream her father had bought her as a kid when they moved under the sheets and wound around her. Fred always felt warm, which was a great benefit in this dreary weather; Barbara pressed herself back against him, hoping to close any distance between the two of them, because she disliked the cold and loved him so very much.

"Good morning, Sunshine," Fred breathed against her neck.

Barbara smiled. "'Morning."

"You know," he murmured, "this would be a lot more romantic if I didn't have about a foot of hair in my mouth right now."

She laughed, and rolled over, so that his hands fell on her shoulder blades; one of them began to trace her spine. "I'm sorry about that. I should cut it."

Fred shook his head slightly. "Don't do that – I love it. I love _you_."

"That'd explain the cold metal band pressed against my back right now, yeah."

"Oi, I've got your _two_ against my heart, you know. I think we're even."

Barbara looked up at him, scruffy and unkempt. His dark red hair stuck out in all directions – she thought briefly that he looked like James with his hair like that, and then shoved the thought out of her head because the last thing she wanted to be in bed with was James Sirius Potter – and if she wasn't so enamored of him she wouldn't have loved the stubble that lined his jaw, framed his mouth. She had completely forgotten that the reason she looked up had been to tell him that having two rings pressed against his heart would probably be the most symbolic thing in the world, and that hopefully the emotion behind the two rings on her left hand would linger by his heart for many, many years; instead he had distracted her, as he so often did.

"What are you staring at, Weasley?" Fred asked, a crooked smile already beaming across his face.

"You, Weasley," replied Barbara, closing her eyes and craning her neck to kiss him.

Fred's hand moved to cup her face, and when they broke apart, he said, "I'll never get tired of that."

"I hope not."

"Oh, that's a guarantee."

Barbara nestled herself into Fred's chest and his hand once again curved around her.

"I don't want to wake up," said Barbara.

"I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but, uh – "

" – Oh, shut it! I meant I didn't want to get out of this bed. I don't. Not _ever_."

Fred's thumb rubbed a spot just above her ribcage, tracing circles on her skin. "Not even to go to James's place tonight?"

"Well, maybe for that," said Barbara frankly. "I imagine that'll be lots of fun."

"Felix and Elena will be there; it's been a while since we saw them."

"Oh, I've not seen Elena since before New York!"

Fred and Barbara had spent their honeymoon in New York, because Barbara had always loved the idea of it. She hadn't ever been to New York – neither of them had – but everything her Muggle father ever told her about it had made her want to go: the bright lights, the musicals – oh, yes, she especially loved those. Fred didn't understand why she dragged him to so many – over their fortnight in New York, they watched forty shows – but he was not one to complain, because he was so dizzyingly fond of her, and because he kind of liked show tunes (though it was the kind of thing he would never ever admit to James or Roxanne).

But it had been months since their honeymoon, months since their wedding, and neither could quite comprehend it. Their marriage – and both still blushed calling it that – did not seem like a real event, a real state of life; it occurred in a state where it could have been forever or it could have been a second, and no difference would have been made. However, the reality of the situation was that Barbara had seen neither Elena nor Felix since before her wedding, and the same was true for Fred.

"Rose is coming, and she's bringing her Will bloke – "

" – Will Bowen? Cordelia will like that," Barbara supposed, "they were always very good friends."

"Yes," said Fred quickly, "they're both coming, and I think Roxanne and Wood are coming – Merlin, if they snog on the couch again like last time – "

" – Then Roxanne will have to avert her eyes while her very married brother snogs his very happy wife on the couch beside." Barbara smiled up at Fred and kissed him again.

"I don't know how everyone else will like that."

"I don't think you care very much about how everyone else will like it."

Fred grinned. "You know me so well."

There was a momentary pause, and then Barbara continued counting the guests who would be in attendance. "Cordelia's coming, and so are Al and Andy – "

" – Shoot, that's a mouthful, isn't it? They'll definitely have to sort that out if they keep on seeing each other – "

" – Shut up, Fred; I'm trying to think of guests – "

" – But that's it, if I remember correctly: you, me, Felix, Elena, Rose, Bowen, Rox, Wood, Cordelia, Al, Andy? Blimey, it's a wonder James has the space in his drawing room."

"He calls it a 'drawing room'?"

"Barbs, it was once owned by the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black; of course the person who's living there calls it a 'drawing room'."

Barbara rolled her eyes at him. "Alright!" she muttered, and in the next moment she had rolled not only her eyes at her husband but herself out of bed, and she began to head for the door, while Fred complained behind her.

"Why did you do that?"

"I have a job," she replied, with faux innocence. "A job which – unlike yours – does not take place downstairs. And I need to get ready for it."

Fred collapsed back into the sheets, groaning. "I wish you'd never got that stupid promotion."

"Why, because I have to work half-days on Sundays? Or because you preferred when you could say your girlfriend had a job that was sort of pronounced like A-Quack?"

"Both," he grumbled.

She laughed at him. "Good heavens, I've married a child."

"Given the month of disparity between our birthdays," said Fred, "it could be said that that is true."

Again, she laughed at him.

* * *

Cordelia was standing by James's vintage record player, from which a Beatles vinyl resounded, magically emitting not simply the same song, but every song, and she guessed that there had been something slightly illegal in its manner of possession. She had been hovering by it all evening – and, in truth, that simply meant the fifteen minutes she had been at Number Twelve. She had entered the house to _I Saw Her Standing There_, which transitioned into _I've Just Seen A Face_, and now _Misery_ was wafting its way through the room, though the general mood of the party was vastly different to the title of the song.

Barbara and Fred were sitting on one couch, opposite James who was sprawled across the other, with his feet up on the coffee table. Felix and Elena were chatting to the newlyweds animatedly – could Barbara and Fred still be called 'newlyweds' if the wedding had taken place two months ago? Cordelia pondered this as she took a swig of the butterbeer James had offered upon her appearance at the door.

"And what are you doing over there by yourself?" Barbara exclaimed, jumping off the couch and hurrying over to where Cordelia was – admittedly – standing alone.

"I'm just appreciating Lennon," said Cordelia, at which James snorted.

Fred made rather a pointed move across the couch, so that there was space for Barbara and Cordelia both to sit, but James made an equally pointed stretching gesture and pointed – literally – to the empty space beside him. Cordelia rolled her eyes, aware that everybody (most especially Felix and Elena) was watching her reaction. She opted, as many do, for a friendly chuckle.

"First you make fun of me for liking John, then you ask me to sit with you – I don't know what you want with me, James, I really don't."

He laughed, watching her as she sat down beside him. "I wasn't making fun of you – I just don't particularly like him, myself."

Fred and Barbara continued conversation with Elena and Felix, and Cordelia replied, "Oh, neither do I. George is my favourite."

"_What?_" said James, as though he had just taken a bite of a pear to find it tasted like a damp sock. "Did you just say _George_ was your favourite? How can _George_ be your favourite?" He stared at her. "Come on, Cordelia, if you're going to have an ironic favourite, at least make it Ringo like everybody else does!"

The doorbell rang, and James jumped up to get it. "I'll keep telling you off in ten seconds, dearest."

He raced to the door, eager to get back to a conversation with Cordelia Gilbert that hopefully – for once – would not end in him mindlessly flirting with her and she talking about books or death. Upon opening said door, James discovered Christopher Wood and Fred's sister Roxanne nose-to-nose (despite a rather comical height difference) in what seemed to be a Quidditch-related argument. They were usually to be discovered this way; the couple seemed to spend their time either disputing Quidditch superiority or snogging in shrubbery. (Either way, someone ended up offended. If the latter activity was involved, this tended to be Fred.)

"Puddlemere," said James, nodding to Wood, "Holyhead," he said in the same tone, nodding to Roxanne. "Want to take this argument inside where you can drink Firewhiskey or Oak-Matured Mead?"

Roxanne patted him on the arm as she passed. "Don't mind if I do, Monty."

Wood chuckled into his hand and followed his girlfriend as James called after her, "That better not stick, Roxie, or I'll kill you!"

In less than a minute, James had returned to Cordelia's side, though he had chosen to go about getting there in the least orthodox way possible. (He had jumped over the back of the couch and scooted as close as he could get to her without being conspicuous. While Miss Gilbert had opted for butterbeer, James had not, and the Firewhiskey was liquid courage he most certainly did not need.)

"Fine. Who's _your_ favourite, then?" demanded Cordelia, who had definitely noticed James's arm stretched along the back of the couch, and had made a mental note not to lean on it at any point because his hand would definitely be in her hair or close to it and she wasn't sure if they were back to that stage of a friendship yet. She wasn't sure if they had ever been there, to be quite honest.

"Paul," James said easily.

"Why's that?"

"He stuck around the longest, didn't he? I mean, Cynthia and Julian and all that – "

" – Can Cynthia be my favourite Beatle?" Cordelia asked.

James looked at her, and she seemed genuine. Then again, this was Cordelia, and she always seemed genuine. "I don't know if she counts. I'd like her to."

"Wanting to put her in the Beatle category might be offensive to everything she had to deal with while she was with John, though," Cordelia considered. "I don't know if I'd like to subject her to that."

"You really care about Cynthia, don't you?"

"Someone has to. Don't you?"

Yes, he did, very much. But at the same time, James could not help but think about a ride they had taken on the Knight Bus when he was seventeen, when he had told Cordelia that the Weasley boys had divided themselves into Beatles members and he himself was John. Did that make her Cynthia, then? Did he have a Yoko?

Cordelia reached over and gave James's shoulder a little shake. "Are you okay? You've spaced out on me." She laughed at his delayed reaction. (In reality, his skin seemed to be on fire, and he wasn't sure if it was the whiskey or the girl or a mixture of both.) "Come on, Al and Andy aren't even here – Rose and Will aren't – and you're already sloshed."

"I am _not_," said James defiantly. "I've had _one_ glass, and I'll not have anymore, if it bothers you. Come on," he added as an afterthought, "let's go and see what song we can get the vinyl to play."

What he wanted very much was _not_ to find a song on the record player that they both liked, because those were easy to get and James liked things that required a little work; instead, he was preoccupied by Cordelia, and what he might do to have her touch him again, or vice versa. Viciously, he attempted to push the thoughts from his head. They were meant to be friends, and nothing more, and he was meant to be content with that. _She_ certainly was.

Albus and Andy arrived a few minutes later; the latter held a cake that had _James Potter's Epic House Party Thingy That Actually Isn't A Party_ written in the icing, which made everyone in the vicinity laugh.

"I can't take credit for it, I'm afraid," Andy admitted. "All Sennen's work."

"Who's Sennen again?" asked Elena.

"Andy's business partner," said Al, grinning slightly.

The door creaked open and Rose crept through, followed by her boyfriend Will. Rose's hair was red and Will's coat was blue, and they were an overwhelmingly ordinary couple, in that she was bossy and he was beautiful and they were both incredibly bright. Almost immediately, while James was distracted with a cake and a cousin or three, Will and Cordelia leapt into a conversation that they did not leap out of for another twenty minutes.

"So why _did_ you invite all of us here tonight?" Barbara asked, sidling up to James after a few moments of watching him pretend not to watch Cordelia and Will. "Just a casual hangout?"

"You know me," James smirked. "I'm the _king_ of casual."

Barbara raised her eyebrows. "I can't think of anyone more inversely qualified for that title, actually."

"Shut up, Weasley."

"You've cottoned on quickly to the change."

James laughed. "I've been preparing for it since fifth year."

"Why fifth year?"

"Niall," said James, by way of explanation. "Fred hated both your boyfriend and the homophonous river, and that's when I knew he _really_ fancied you."

She smiled. "Do you still prefer Cordelia in a spherical room?"

"What are you on about?"

"No Corners."

"Ah. Good one. No. She is free to see who she likes, and always was."

Barbara shook her head, laughing. "Who are you trying to kid, James? I keep seeing the way you look at her; it's like there's a light flicking on in your head."

"You keep your metaphors going, Barbara. I'm sure they'll be accurate one day."

"You still don't look like the light's gone out, you know."

James half-smiled. "_There Is A Light That Never Goes Out_."

Barbara looked at him quizzically. "That was oddly philosophical."

"It's a Muggle song lyric," he said. "You should know better than I do."

"I'm afraid not."

James shrugged. "It'd just further your theory, anyway. She showed it to me." He pushed his empty glass toward Cordelia, who was now grinning at something Andy had just said. "It's one of the Muggle songs she likes." He swore despairingly. "Barbs, _why_ do I remember that? _Why_ do I care about that?"

"Get your head out of your arse," exclaimed Fred, who had just swung an arm around his wife. "This get-together was for everyone who showed up, not so all of us could give you advice on a rotation."

"Oh, shove it," James muttered. "You're just mad because you've seen Roxanne and Wood snogging in the loo."

"How in _Merlin's pants _– "

" – It's my house," said James. "Not a lot happens that I don't know about."

"I'd object to that," Barbara said under her breath. She couldn't have backed it up in court but she was certain there were a great deal of things James Potter did not know, even in his own house.

By half past ten, Andy and Albus had left the gathering; the former had a business to run and the latter was halfway through Auror training, with no desire to show up shattered. Roxanne and Wood followed suit shortly after, when Fred had taken to sulking about the fact a bloke he had slept in the same dormitory as for seven years was now seeking to do the same thing with _his little sister_ (Roxanne would have none of this, and said it was either she and Chris left or she hexed Fred which she did not want to do in front of his wife and their present company).

Rose and Will departed at eleven, and perhaps it was the revelation that her closest friend at the party was leaving, but Cordelia made to do the same a few minutes later. While the rest of the group had simply Disapparated or used the Floo Network, James saw fit to make some excuse to walk Cordelia to the door.

"Always exciting with this lot," he began as soon as they had cleared the drawing room.

"I guess that's the word for it," Cordelia replied. "Feels a bit odd to be surrounded by couples, though, when you're not part of one."

"Odd?"

"No, I suppose that's not quite the word for it."

James smirked. "Cordelia, if you want to be in a couple with me, just say so."

She glared at him, though the corners of her mouth twitched. "That's not what I meant."

"I know," said James, watching her intently. They made their way down the short corridor to the door and after a couple of steps James felt compelled to add, "You know, I think it's strange that you spend more time with my mum than you do with me."

Cordelia, who had been a foot or so in front of James, stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. "Oh?"

"Well, we're mates, aren't we?"

"What, and Ginny and I are best – "

" – Don't call her 'Ginny'," said James with an eyes-closed shake of his head. "She's my mum and you shouldn't be calling her 'Ginny' because that's making me feel weird."

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. "Sorry?"

"No – I mean – it's fine, it's just forcing me to think of you two as actually being friends and I can't fathom that."

She looked at him.

"I used to write her letters about dating you!"

"You did?" Cordelia laughed. "That's very cute."

James groaned. "I don't want to be cute, I want to leave you incoherent."

"You used to, a bit," she told him, chuckling. "Unfortunately, times change like the weather, and such is life."

"I liked you much more when you weren't friends with my mum."

"Oh, you like me just fine."

"But what if she tells you some embarrassing anecdote about me? Do you promise to cover your ears?"

Cordelia stared at James. "Do you _honestly_ just think your mum and I get together to have conversations about _you_?"

He shrugged. "Well, maybe. You have me in common!" he added desperately, after another bemused look. "I mean, you've both – seen me – uh – or – I don't know – " He trailed off, unable to articulate exactly what great James-related similarities Cordelia and Ginny shared.

"James, you're making this weird."

"He's not trying to snog you, is he?" came Fred's overly loud voice from the threshold of the drawing room.

James and Cordelia both laughed, and the latter replied, "No, he's being moderately decent."

"_Moderately_?" James asked, acting insulted. "Not even 'perfectly'?"

"Well – no – you keep talking about your mum and I'm just trying to say 'good night'."

"True," he considered, and he put a hand on the doorknob so to eventually open it for her, but also in order to keep her from leaving before he had said what he wanted to say. "But with all my strange antics, I haven't turned you off this kind of stuff, have I? Because I was thinking of another one next month, just a few mates, and – "

" – Yeah," she replied. "Yeah, why not?"

"Brilliant." James cleared his throat. "Uh – yeah. Sounds good. I'll… see you then?"

"Or maybe before," said Cordelia, "considering how much you seem to casually show up in the press tent of Quidditch matches that aren't yours."

He grinned at her. "I just can't keep away."

"Oh, believe me," she replied. "I've noticed."


	4. Home Is Where The Heart Is

**author's note:** This isn't mine (well, it is, but the world isn't.) (The world isn't mine anyway.) (Oops.) _Also_ have you read that new Skeeter article on Pottermore? I'm dreadfully excited about it, but I'm also a bit _are you serious James_ because if Teddy and Vic were romping around the Quidditch World Cup then why was snogging on Platform Nine and Three Quarters a big deal? Damn it, James! I've written you as smart but you're obviously one Seeker short of a Quidditch team if ya know what I'm sayin'. _Anyway_, enjoy this chapter!

* * *

**Chapter Four**

"**Home Is Where The Heart Is"**

**Or**

"**When I Saw Her Standing There"**

* * *

Gabbie Sterling pressed her hands against the shop window and Hugo laughed at her. "You're not going to start snogging the glass, are you?" he asked. "That might be where I draw the line."

The blonde retracted her hands and poked her tongue at him. "What, and you refuse to be seen with me? I'd sooner snog the window than you."

Hugo went bright red, and Gabbie laughed at him.

"It's all right, Hugo; just find some mistletoe and I'll be yours."

He went redder still, and she pulled him away from the sweet shop and back down the main street. It was the week before Christmas, and the end of term had come and gone; Ravenclaw had played Hufflepuff in the Quidditch Cup and won by a slim margin of ten points. The two of them walked with linked arms down the Muggle road that eventually led to Diagon Alley, and any onlooker would have thought that the tall, skinny ginger boy was besotted with his shorter blonde companion; and in a bizarre turn of events, any onlooker would have been absolutely right.

"Ooh!" Gabbie exclaimed. "That place looks _lovely_!"

She squeezed Hugo's arm and gazed up at him. After a moment, he sighed. "Oh, fine, it's half twelve anyway."

* * *

Patricia Day rapped her knuckles on the front door of Benji Marchbanks and Harrison Tulley's shared flat in Lincoln. It was rather a murky day, and she did not like the look of the dark clouds overhead. Scuffling sounds echoed from inside the flat. She tapped her foot impatiently against the concrete; she had woken up before noon today – an unwelcome change – and she had expected the same level of dedication from the boys. It was _their_ band rehearsal, after all. She had done well to book them the Brixton headline gig – but did they appreciate it? They would probably buy her a bottle of raspberry-infused firewhiskey and deal out hugs; yes, that would be the extent of their _thank you_. Patricia knocked again.

"Oi! Benj! It's Trish!" came Harrison's muffled voice from inside the flat.

She heard Benji swear loudly, and then he shouted, "Sorry, Patricia! Give us a mo!"

The door swung open, revealing Benji Marchbanks with a t-shirt halfway down his torso and Harrison Tulley on the couch, looking very lethargic. Benji pulled down his shirt and invited Patricia inside.

"Sorry about that," he added once she had crossed the threshold. "I didn't think you'd want me opening the door in my pants."

Patricia laughed. "That might've been a bit awkward, yeah."

"So. Band practice."

"Roy and Tom are probably going to Floo in any minute now," said Harrison, who was now using his wand to clear the living room and ready it for their rehearsal. When Benji had disappeared into the kitchen to make them all tea, Harrison asked, "How's the boyfriend, sweets?"

"He's all right," said Patricia. She rolled her eyes, remembering something Harrison had said to her after their Hogsmeade gig. "And, yes, we're still going strong. No, he is not eyeing you flirtatiously every time he comes to see us."

Harrison sighed. "Another dream, crushed."

"Sorry."

Benji returned with cups of tea levitating behind him. He held the pot of sugar and a small jug of milk, which passed around the room, filling up cups accordingly. "Who's this we're talking about?"

"Scorpius," said Patricia, at the same time Harrison said, "Trish's boyfriend."

"Ah." Benji smiled wide. "It's okay, Harrison – one day we'll find somebody for the both of us."

Patricia nearly inhaled some tea up her nose. "Not to share, though?"

"Maybe if it's consensual," Harrison replied, shrugging.

There was a loud noise from the fireplace, a couple of meters in front of the couch, and Roy emerged, covered in soot. He stumbled on the rug, sunk into a low bow, and moved out of the way as Tom appeared in the place he had just vacated.

"You're late," said Harrison.

Roy shrugged. "Traffic."

Patricia placed her teacup on the saucer floating beside her shoulder and clapped her hands. "Right, boys – rehearsal!"

"Actually, I wrote a song last night," said Harrison, jumping up from the couch.

"Is it angsty?" asked Tom.

"I prefer the term 'punk rock'," Harrison replied, "but yes, it's very much that."

"Let me guess," Roy muttered. "It's about Ashton."

Benji elbowed Roy in the ribs as Harrison rolled his eyes. "I'm done with him! Properly – he's actually moved to America, you know?" He glared at Roy. "How would you feel if I kept muttering under my breath about your dear Elle?"

Sobered up, Roy did not respond.

"All right, then!" said Patricia enthusiastically, jumping onto the couch beside Benji. "Let's hear this song of yours?"

* * *

Lily opened the front door, surprised at what she found standing on the threshold of her home. Her father was up in Glasgow hunting down some renegade Muggle haters, and her mother had gone ahead to James's match. Albus was picking Andy up from her bakeshop, and then the two of them would be Apparating to the stadium, somewhere in an old Welsh quarry. Under normal circumstances, Lily would have shouted, "Al! Your boyfriend's here!" and then invited Scorpius in, but she was the only one home and he was looking down at her with such a roguish smile that it almost had her breathless. She clenched her jaw – Lily Potter was _not_ breathless.

"Your brother's not in, is he?" Scorpius surmised.

Lily pulled at the Montrose Magpies jersey she had on and shook her head. "Bristol, picking up Andy."

"Oh – really? Why's that?" Scorpius furrowed his eyebrows. "I didn't think they were going out tonight."

Lily smirked. "Because Al _does_ tell you everything, doesn't he?"

"More or less, yeah."

"There's a match. James is playing so we're all going to watch."

"_Oh_." He pointed to her shirt. "_That_ makes more sense now."

"No," she said dryly. "I just wear this for fun." After a moment, she asked, "D'you want to come in? Al forgot his inflatable magpie, so he might pop back."

Scorpius blinked a couple of times. "I wouldn't be disturbing you, would I?"

"I wouldn't ask you in if I didn't think you'd be worth hanging around with."

He grinned, bowing so deep he could have kissed his shins. "Glad to be of service, Miss Potter."

Lily scooted aside to allow Scorpius into the house and then shut the door behind him. He stood, fidgeting with his hands, as though unsure of where to sit or whether to do so at all. She had never seen him anything less than absolutely comfortable, so in this new territory, Lily felt a strange sense of confidence.

"Your parents aren't home, are they?"

Lily raised her eyebrows. "No, Dad's in Scotland and Mum's already gone to the match."

"Just us then?"

She laughed at him. "Take a seat and stop looking as though the idea of being alone with me terrifies you."

"You? Terrify me? You're five foot nothing."

"I'm actually five foot _three_ – "

"Surprisingly enough, dear, that isn't helping your case."

Scorpius threw himself down onto the sofa and looked up at Lily with a smile plastered on his face. She crossed the living room, past the coffee table and the fireplace, until she reached the open door to the kitchen and turned to him once more.

"Do you want anything to drink?" she asked.

"Uh – butterbeer, if you've got some."

Lily set about fetching the drinks and left Scorpius to his thoughts, which she imagined were along the lines of his girlfriend, her brother, and the Quidditch game she needed to leave for in fifteen minutes. Upon her return to the living room, Scorpius straightened up and took one of the bottles from her hands.

"Thank you – for the drink."

"Thank _you_ – for the company," Lily replied, sitting down beside Scorpius on the couch. "So what are your plans for later this evening?"

He shrugged, taking a swig of the butterbeer. "Nothing too adventurous. Patricia's got a gig and your brother's going to watch your other brother, so I'm kind of companionless."

"Do you have a _job_ of some description?" Lily asked, for she had never heard of him actually doing any kind of work and the intellect he did not seem to be putting to good use intrigued her.

Scorpius shrugged. "I'm working at a pub right now, mostly to spite my dad." He noticed her eyes on him and explained, "He wants me to be one of the nameless seat-fillers in some Ministry office."

"That sounds like a dreadfully boring idea," said Lily. "I guess I always imagined you fighting for causes and changing the world and all that."

"What got you thinking that?"

Lily shrugged. "Milton Harper, originally."

"Well, I have to say you're absolutely right."

"What? Really?"

"Yeah," Scorpius said after a moment. Lily turned to him, and it seemed that some kind of daze had overcome his features. His eyes flickered to meet hers. "Funny, that."

Lily looked down, and found that Scorpius's hand was an inch away from hers. She could have taken it, but she definitely did not desire to, and instead, she coughed. "Guess I know you better than I thought."

Sobered up, Scorpius replied, "yeah, guess so."

"Listen," said Lily, "if you wanted, you could come to the match – Al's going to be there, and Andy, and I think Cordelia will, too, because James said he and his mates had plans afterwards and he's actually started including her in that – yeah, I know," she added, noticing the surprised expression on Scorpius's face, "and anyway, you _would_ have mates there, and you said you didn't have plans, and we're technically allowed to bring plus-ones into the box with us – so just – you know, if you want…"

He was looking at her, and he tended to that very often, and Lily had just begun to notice. His face was oddly vulnerable, and she decided this _was_ odd for there was nothing about the situation that should have rendered him so, but the way his grey-green eyes were fixed on her left behind a feeling that she didn't think she'd ever experienced. He had a strange effect on her, Scorpius did.

"If I'm not intruding – "

" – You really wouldn't be, I promise," said Lily immediately, so quickly it surprised her. "Mum's going to be in the press box and the rest of us are just going to be hanging out with the other players' guests who are there. Just – if you want to."

"I think you've already said that," Scorpius told her, smirking.

"Consent is important," Lily replied, feeling rather silly. "Plus, Al's probably forgotten all about the inflatable magpie and I'd rather not carry it with me."

"So you're asking me to be your date to a Quidditch match simply because you want me to carry an inflatable magpie?"

"I never said anything about you being my date!"

"I think you'll find you did." He put his fingers up like quote marks. "'We're allowed to bring plus-ones.'"

"It didn't mean you'd be _mine_, I just – "

" – Sure, sure, whatever – "

"I'm Al's sister! And you have a girlfriend!"

Scorpius opened his mouth but the last word of Lily's retort seemed to have stopped him dead. There was a heavy pause, and then he said, "Right. Where's this inflatable magpie, then?"

* * *

Andy Fawcett threw her arms around Cordelia, who in turn patted her friend on the top of her very bushy head. There were others in the guest box, including Beater Ricky Chapman's wife Abigail and their daughter Kimberley, and new Australian transfer Luke Meade's cousin Michael. Lily was eyeing him from across the room, while Albus asked her to explain yet again why she had brought Scorpius to the match. Andy's attention was still very much fixed on Cordelia.

"What are you doing after the match? You should come out for a drink with Al and I!"

Cordelia shook her head apologetically. "I'd love to, but I'm going to James's – "

" – You're doing _what_?" Andy interjected.

" – You're doing _who_?" Scorpius echoed, for he was standing beside them on the pitch side of the box. "_Tell_ me you're not here as a trophy g – "

Cordelia smacked his arm. "I am nothing of the sort, thank you!" She glared. "Honestly, Scorpius – you're such a prick – "

" – I'd rather be a prick than have one," he muttered, poking his little finger up in the air.

Cordelia grabbed his hand and yanked it down. "I don't know _who _you're going on about. But _no_, I am _not_ just here as a Quidditch wag. I'm here watching the match and then I'm going to meet a few friends at one of their houses afterwards. Is that such a crime?"

"It is when the friend used to want – "

" – Shut up, you," Andy told Scorpius. "Cordelia can be friends with whomever she likes, and she can be more than friends with whomever she likes. For example, that Luke Meade bloke – " She pulled her omnioculars up to her eyes as the Magpies took to the field. " – Oh, he's _gorgeous_, isn't he, Cordelia?"

The journalist smiled faintly, saying only, "I usually prefer darker hair."

Scorpius rolled his eyes and moved back to Al, who was no longer arguing with his sister. The pair of them watched the last players take to the air, then the balls were released and the game began.

James's hands were the first on the Quaffle, and he whizzed through the air towards the Tornadoes' goalposts, dodging players this way and that. A Bludger was on his trail, and he could obviously tell, so he dropped the Quaffle down to Meade, who was flying below. The party watching from the box moved to the glass window to see the action more clearly.

Chasers swirled through the air, interweaving with Beaters, and Keepers made dives that seemed impossible. Seekers soared overhead, circling the pitch, searching for the tiny winged ball that no crowd member really believed could be found this early.

"Bet you wish you were up there," Scorpius muttered to Lily, who stood beside him with wide brown eyes.

"With James? Shoot, I've had a lifetime of that."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you want to do, then?" he asked, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

Lily turned to him, momentarily ignoring the Quidditch. "Change the world," she said.

Lily's attention returned to the match, but Scorpius's did not. His gaze lingered on her face a while, masked by something like incredulity. She fascinated him, this girl.

_Wait. No._

He wheeled around, very nearly colliding with Al in the process, and then launched into a jokey commentary with the dark-haired boy.

"And Potter takes the Quaffle! Surprisingly, the weight of it does not make him plummet to the ground, unlike Cordelia's jaw, which you can now find on the floor–"

Both Albus and Scorpius burst out laughing, their eyes flickering from the match to Cordelia, who in all fairness was completely transfixed. She pulled her omnioculars up and then back down again, her lips parted. Scorpius pretended to wipe away tears.

"It's Gale of the Tornadoes in possession," said Al. "Of both the Quaffle _and_ a ridiculous pun for a last name, that is!"

Andy, still beside Cordelia, snapped at her boyfriend, "Shut up! Some of us are actually trying to watch!"

Lily nudged Scorpius. "Yeah – shut up, idiot."

"Oh, but don't you think I'm funny?"

"I struggle with finding you _cool_, mate."

He laughed. "Don't start that again, love."

"Don't call my sister 'love'," Al cut in. He looked past Scorpius to Lily. "Do I have to stand in the middle of you two?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're acting like I've snogged him, Al. And we both know which one of us actually has."

Outraged, Albus glared at her. "Oi! I think you'll find it was a life or death situation!"

"Don't be embarrassed of it," said Lily casually. "I'm just _saying_."

"In case you two haven't noticed," Scorpius piped up, his eyes flitting from Potter to Potter, "your brother just scored."

"_What?_"

Both siblings jumped for their omnioculars and Scorpius extracted himself from their proximity, narrowly missing the inflatable magpie one of the Potters had dropped nearby. He found Andy and Cordelia's company, less than a foot away, much better paced.

* * *

James scratched the back of his neck. "The others… haven't shown up."

"Oh," said Cordelia, leaning against the doorframe of the drawing room. "That's funny – I was just talking to Barbara about it yesterday."

James half-laughed and bit his lip. "She sent me an owl this morning to say they couldn't make it."

"That _is_ a strange coincidence."

She moved forward, taking a few steps into the drawing room and, in due course, closer to James. He looked tired, and understandably so – he had just played a Quidditch game, and there was probably nothing he wanted to do more than sleep. Cordelia suddenly felt as though she were intruding.

"I – I can go," she told him rather aggressively. James's eyes widened, but Cordelia did not meet them. "I mean, you've just had a match, and you must be knackered, and no one else is here, so it's not like – "

" – Whoa, whoa, whoa!" He lunged forward, grabbing Cordelia's arm as she made to leave. "With all due respect, Cordelia, that's pretty much the last thing I'd like you to do right now."

She smiled at him. "Nice to have some company after a match, then?"

"Oh, definitely," he replied. "Especially if it's someone I like as much as you."

"Easy, tiger."

* * *

An hour later, they had left the drawing room, where four bottles of butterbeer had been placed on the table between the two couches like an art fixture. They had talked about Christmas, and Quidditch, and when Cordelia suggested that they get some air, James very near launched himself off the couch. They had walked the perimeter of the square outside the house, and then branched out, and very soon James and Cordelia were using their long strides to trace the length of the River Thames.

"You know, Luke Meade isn't just a pretty face," James was saying to Cordelia.

"Oh, you don't have to tell me twice," she replied. "I've interviewed him, remember?"

James dodged a late-night tourist party and asked seriously, "wait, he wasn't the one flirting with you, was he?"

Cordelia smiled, and it was a smile that made James very wary – it was the kind of smile she used to give him. "Well, he wasn't the only one _flirting_, if that's what you mean."

He gulped, backtracking. "Uh – you know he transferred here from Australia, right? He's from the other side of the world. Where would you _live_?"

She laughed, turning to him. "I'm not _marrying_ a teammate of yours, James."

"Because he's on my team or because you genuinely don't want to marry him?"

"Because when I bring up an attractive bloke it shouldn't leap to marriage," Cordelia reasoned, nudging James, who put an arm around her.

"Oh – uh – is this okay?" He asked quickly, of their positioning.

Cordelia leaned her head into him. "This is nice. I was cold anyway."

They walked a little way further, past bright restaurants and pubs, past phone boxes and statues and street signs, past others on the path and past acknowledging anything that was perhaps happening between them. There were Muggle Christmas songs playing somewhere in the distance, and Cordelia stopped speaking about the Beatles exhibition in Liverpool to listen to them. James watched her in the almost darkness; he could see his own silhouette shadowing her face. Her eyes were brown, like his, but there seemed to be entire constellations of gold glittering inside them, and when she brought her gaze up to meet his, James vowed to defend the beauty of brown eyes to anyone who ever called them dull.

"Do you like them, then?"

"What?" he asked quietly.

"Carols," she replied. "They always make you nostalgic, don't they, even if it's nostalgic for the time you're currently experiencing?"

James smiled down at her. "I'm already pretty nostalgic for now."

"Me too," she admitted, smiling back. Luke Meade did not seem high on her list now.

They decided to cross the street and return home the way they came. James tried not to let it get to him that Cordelia referred to his house as _home_ for the two of them, because it did not mean anything, and it could not, because she did not see him that way anymore and she was so happy for them to be friends. It wasn't right of him to want more than that when she didn't. It wasn't fair to either of them.

There was a florist's shop near where James lived, and the sign hanging out onto the street was fully adorned for Christmas. The springs of holly and mistletoe tied there made James's heart jump into his throat. (And, apparently, his mouth.)

"What would you do if I kissed you right now?" he blurted out to Cordelia.

"Punch you in the face, probably."

He laughed. "Wouldn't reciprocate?"

Cordelia shrugged. "Maybe a bit. Why do you ask?"

James pointed at the sign, now directly above their heads. Both he and Cordelia stopped walking. "Mistletoe," said he.

"Bugger off," said she.

She made to keep walking, and he smirked at her. Reaching out, he took her hand, and almost immediately, she retraced her steps to stand in front of him.

"Are you seriously going to waste perfectly good mistletoe?" he asked.

Cordelia bit her lip, looking up at James. Then, slowly, she tiptoed up and kissed him.

She pulled away almost immediately, and James's free hand wound around her waist, trying to keep her entwined with him forever, but she pressed her fingers to his chest and each one shattered his newfound reverie with equal force.

"Let's not put all our cards on the table at once, eh, James?"

She was trying to laugh, and so was he, and they were both equally breathless after what had just happened.

"No – no, of course not." He grinned at her, back to ignoring the way his stomach lurched and the fact that as he fell asleep that night he would undoubtedly be replaying the last couple of hours over and over in his head. "That would ruin the friendship thing we've got going on."

Cordelia smiled. "We _do_ make pretty good friends, don't we?"

"Oh, I'd say so, Poppins."

When they reached the front steps of James's house, he turned to Cordelia and asked, "D'you want to hang out next week? Just – if you're not working? Or – if you are?"

She smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I think that'd be fun."

"Do you want a cup of tea now, though?" He gestured to the kitchen, which the two of them could see from the threshold of the house.

Cordelia looked at her watch. "It's getting late, James. Are you sure you're not tired? I mean, you can go to bed if – "

James laughed. "You keep talking like that and I'll start thinking you fancy me, Cordelia."

"That'd ruin the whole thing, wouldn't it?"

He nodded, trying not to think about the plummeting feeling in his chest. "Tea?"

"I'd love some."

* * *

Barbara strode through the cold post-Christmas air to meet her friends for lunch. She had not seen Molly in a few weeks, and the same could be said of Elena, so the three of them had organized to meet on the wizard side of Greenwich. She was not late – Barbara was particularly punctual and always had been – but as she entered the pub, Elena and Molly were already sat at a table by the window, chatting animatedly.

They jumped out of their seats to embrace her before launching into a comprehensive recount of Molly's date with Jason Smith from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, which Barbara listened to with the utmost of interest.

"That's so great!" said Barbara, extending a hand to squeeze Molly's across the table. "It _is_ really funny how we meet the right people."

Molly quirked an eyebrow. "You met Fred on the Hogwarts Express. And I severely doubt I'm going to end up married to Jason."

Elena shrugged. "Well, you never know. I can't imagine eleven-year-old Barbs thought she'd be waking up to grouchy Fred Weasley for the rest of her life."

Molly laughed, but Barbara smiled fondly. "He's not grouchy."

"Oh, I'll bet."

* * *

The baker sat over a giant bowl of dough, her wooden spoon swinging around as she made circular motions with her wrist. She was biting her lip, staring off through the window towards the flower shop across the road. Her friend, in the same room, waved a hand in front of the baker's face.

"Can you stop staring at that cute shop attendant?"

Andy sighed. "Is staring at adorable Muggles a crime now?"

Sennen hurried across the kitchen, her wand out, to clear up messes from earlier in the day. It was the fifth time that week she had watched Andy gaze at the flower shop and the clerks who worked there – and it had been going on long before then.

"Hey – didn't you think the girl there yesterday was cute as well?" she remembered. "'Cute' being your overused choice of word?"

Andy rolled her eyes. "Yes, I did, and I think if you spent half the time watching them that I do, you'd notice they're the same person."

Sennen furrowed her brows, rejoining her friend in front of the kitchen window. "Uh, come again? That tousle-haired shop boy is the same person as the rough-and-ready buxom nugget of adorable from yesterday?"

Andy nodded dreamily. "One in the same. Their name's Alex. I think I'm in love."

"I think you're with _Al_," said Sennen in a firm voice.

Andy's smile faded from her face. Her eyes widened. She seemed to have remembered something appalling. "Oh – _oh!_" She turned to Sennen, one hand over her mouth. "I've forgotten all about Al! What the hell is _wrong_ with me?"

"What the hell _is_ wrong with you?" Sennen replied, staring at her friend in complete and utter shock. She pocketed her wand and continued staring. "Andy, this is mental. How in the world could you forget you had a boyfriend? Especially one so moderately-tall-and-handsome as well-meaning-soon-to-be-Auror Al?"

"I – I don't know – I haven't seen him since before Christmas – " She stopped dead. "_Christmas!_"

Sennen gasped. "Oh, Andy – don't tell me you _seriously_ didn't send him a gift or anything. No 'Season's Greetings'?"

Andy shook her head, standing from her place at the bench. "No, no, I definitely did. I sent him down a huge box of biscuits with different pictures in the icing, I –"

" – _Biscuits?_" Sennen exclaimed. "You sent your boyfriend of three years 'Merry Christmas' biscuits?" She began pacing. "Andy, I sent my Great Aunt Hannah 'Merry Christmas' biscuits! Look how many times you've made me say 'Merry Christmas' biscuits!"

Andy, now bright red in the face, began shaking her head.

"Why didn't you get him _A New Auror's Code_ by Samantha Plum? He's been wanting that for ages!" Sennen went silent, her hands extended in front of her. Wide-eyed and pale faced, she asked, "Is this why you wanted me to go to the Tumbleweed gig in Hogsmeade? Because we had that massive order for the Annual Florists' Guild and you wanted to - ?"

"No," said Andy quickly. "Al actually asked you to that!"

Sennen sighed, leaning against the refrigerator.

"_But_…" Andy admitted slowly. "It _was_ the reason I couldn't go to that one London date with Patricia and Scorpius."

Sennen raised her eyebrows. "The one _I _went to? I thought that was a hangout! For mates! To do mates stuff!" She gulped. "Did you send me out on a date with Albus Severus Potter so that you could get acquainted with a _florist_?"

With her face hidden in her hands, Andy nodded.

"Have I been playing the girlfriend?"

"Oi!" said the baker. "I wouldn't take it that far! I just happen to be very attracted to a florist who frequents this bakeshop as well as very attracted to my boyfriend – is that too much to handle?"

"…You shouldn't be attracted to a florist as _much_ as you are to your boyfriend. Especially not if you've been with him three years. Sorry, but that's a bit weird."

Andy exhaled and her willpower seemed to leave with the deep breath. "What do you suggest, then? That I dump my boyfriend?"

"_If you forgot he existed, then perhaps!_"

* * *

Patricia shut the door of her penthouse residence, aware of the light in the front room though unaware that her boyfriend was also present. She very nearly dropped her handbag when one of his feet appeared above the back of the couch.

"What are you _doing_?"

Scorpius smirked, climbing over furniture to stand in front of his girlfriend. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I _was_ lurking. Now I'm in the middle of kissing my girlfriend."

She allowed him to continue, meeting her lips with his, but as he made to repeat himself, she took a step back. After a long day of rushing four young men from WWN station to WWN station, Patricia Day had neither the energy nor the patience to accommodate a fifth. Scorpius would pretend to understand, and she knew that. Deep down, he couldn't, though. That was the truth of it. She was working practically non-stop, and she was very near having to quit her Diagon Alley job what with the attention Tumbleweed was getting – yet here _he_ was, spending his days lying on sofas and spending his great grandfather's money. It took very much of Patricia's remaining consciousness not to sigh in exasperation.

"What did you do today, then?" she asked, stepping around Scorpius on her way to their bedroom. She discarded her handbag there, as well as her high-heeled shoes, and listened to him explain his various trains of thought and how Lily had mentioned wanting to do the same thing as him.

"And what's that, exactly? Loiter aimlessly and work in a pub to spite family? Claiming your nonchalance is some Muggle fashion called _punk_?"

Scorpius investigated her return to his side with narrowed grey eyes. "While I _am_ punk and while I will pretend to ignore that sly dig at what I've been doing the past couple of years, I would like to say that _no_, what you've just said is not true. Lily says she wants to change the world, too. See! There's someone else!"

Patricia raised her eyebrows. "Since when is Al's little sister any consolation in your latest political fad?"

Scorpius's eyes widened, his grin doing the same. "_Milton Harper_, Trish! Lily and I were a good team on that!"

"It was an eleven-year-old with a broken arm at Hogwarts, babe; is that so much of a victory?"

"Anything's a victory if it helps someone out," said Scorpius sincerely, reaching out to take her hand.

Patricia pulled away. "That's a really nice belief system, Scorpius. But where's it getting you? Two years of sitting on your arse doing nothing productive? What victories have you achieved?"

"Where is this _coming _from?!" Scorpius exclaimed.

"Why don't you ask Lily?" said Patricia coldly. "If you two make such a good team."

"Hey – that's not fair!"

"Then why do you look panicked?" She sighed. "I love you, Scorpius, but I just… you're so smart, and so talented, but you're always saying 'tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow', and pushing things into the future. One day you're going to wake up and it's going to have passed you by."

He stared at her. "Will _you_ have?"

She blinked back tears she honestly had not been expecting. "Right now I'm really not sure."


	5. Limerent

**Author's note:** Rights to JKR etc. Prior to writing this I did lots of crying about the 2014 Quidditch World Cup, AKA the only type of World Cup I care about. If you're not into James and Cordelia, you're going to feel like you're reading through those 200-odd pages of _Order of the Phoenix _that JK would cut out if she re-wrote the book. Hopefully with less angst.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

"**Limerent"**

**Or**

"**Don't Move, Honey"**

* * *

The moment after she opened the door of her Chelsea apartment, it occurred to Cordelia Gilbert that this was the first time James Potter had ever seen her in a pair of pajama shorts and, rather embarrassingly, a winter season Magpies jersey that belonged – up until six days before – to James himself. The explanation was that the Quidditch player had shown up unexpectedly, with a crate of butterbeer, three new books on famous wizard writers, and top box tickets to a New Zealand vs. Australia Quidditch match, and that prior to his arrival, Cordelia had been working on an article for James's mother and had not intended to have company at any point in the day. The explanation for the jersey and why it was worn by Cordelia instead of the young man to whom it belonged – for this is most likely also required – was that, six days before, the two of them had been in St. James's Park (of all the Muggle places they could have been) and Cordelia had been cold and James had been chivalrous and then upon their parting he had said "just keep it, eh?"

So she had.

Now James stared at it, a grin forming on his face, and Cordelia blushed faintly. "It's comfy." After a moment, she added, "why are you here and what on earth are you holding?"

James listed off the items in his arms. "As for why I'm here, it's because I made a promise to your grandmother and I intend to make good on that promise. Fifth of January and all that. Plus, I kind of wanted my jersey back, because as you said, it _is_ comfy… but now that I've seen you in it, I think I prefer it on you than me. Not to mention taking it now would leave one of us a bit more naked than you'd probably like."

"Than _I'd_ probably like?"

"Well, I won't lie, Cordelia – "

She smacked his arm. "You expect me to let you in now?"

He smirked at her. "I'm counting on it. Please?"

Shaking her head, she opened the door wider and allowed him inside.

The hallway into which the entryway ran had one door on either side. On the left, Cordelia pointed out her bedroom, and on the right, the bathroom, but both doors were closed and James had no opportunity to see if her bed had been made or if she was the type of girl who took up all the space around the bathroom sink. At the end of the short corridor, there was a large room with a series of windows running across the opposite wall. On the left side of the room, there was a large desk covered in _Daily Prophet_ cuttings – Cordelia's workstation. The rest of the space was relatively bare, beyond necessary chairs and coffee tables and couches, as well as a dining table to the right. Around the corner, directly behind the dining area – which James severely doubted Cordelia actually used, but it _did_ seem like one of those things you were supposed to have as an adult; a _dining area_ – was the kitchen. Everything seemed clean, except for the piles of books that were littered around the place. In a way, the apartment was an extension of Cordelia herself. The ceiling, especially. James almost swore when he noticed it.

"How did you do the Great Hall thing?"

Cordelia's eyes shot up and she smiled. The ceiling looked similar to the sky outside, only the terrible cold of the actual sky did not penetrate this atmosphere. The sole place James had seen with such a reflective ceiling – beyond the one in which he was currently standing – was the Great Hall at Hogwarts.

"I read up on the necessary charms and tried my best." Cordelia had gone a little pink. "It's not perfect – sometimes it goes sunny or starlit at the drop of a hat, and I've practically no idea why, but for the most part it's a nice writing atmosphere."

"Or a way to pretend you've been outside when you can't be bothered doing so?"

"Could be, yeah."

Distracted from the ceiling now that conversation had begun between them, Cordelia sat herself down on one side of the couch and gestured for James to take the other.

"So," she whispered dramatically, "you've brought me gifts. Christmas was two weeks ago, you know. Last year?"

James chuckled. "Yes, you muppet. I _am_ aware. Doesn't stop me bringing something to help cheer you up, does it?"

Cordelia reached for the three books James had brought her, inspecting their covers and spines. She set them down in her lap and asked, "How did you know which ones to buy me?"

He shrugged. "Mostly, I just picked the authors of books you told me you'd read – you know, way back when." _Back when we were together_. James picked up one of the butterbeer bottles and offered a second to Cordelia, who took it. "Then I asked Mum if you'd mentioned anyone around the office."

She smiled at him. "You asked your mum about me?"

"That's not nearly as cool as you seem to think it is."

"No, it's actually really sweet," she told him, "in a kind of unexpected way."

"She was also the one who put me onto the Australasian match."

Cordelia set the books down, nodding, and picked up the tickets to the match in question. She could feel James watching her, and she understood why – the gifts, his jersey, the fact that she had kissed him two days before Christmas and then they had spent New Year's Eve together. She had not kissed him then, as Muggles tended to, but something in the way he watched her now made her wonder if he had wanted her to. Something that astounded her, above anything else that could have, was that James looked as fitting in her apartment as the couch on which they sat. Cordelia did not want to dwell on that.

"So who're you going to take?"

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. "I presumed you wanted to come with me."

James shrugged. "I _wanted_ to, but then I decided I didn't want to force you not to take Luke, who Al's dear Andy thinks is – quote – _gorgeous_. I also have it on good authority that you didn't disagree."

Cordelia blushed, and James grinned lopsidedly at her.

"So if you wanted to use this as a top opportunity to get off with a bloke who _could've_ played for Australia but then went for regional England, I won't stop you. I'll simply ask that you don't describe it to me in detail."

She stared at him. "You're obsessed with Luke."

"No I'm not!"

"You're obsessed with me being obsessed with Luke."

"_Are_ you obsessed with Luke?"

"Absolutely not!"

"D'you think he's fit?"

"Well, yeah, but – "

" – Fitter than me?"

"Nobody's fitter than you – "

She had clearly expected him to interrupt her, and when he did not, she commenced a spasmodic period of blinking. James straightened up. He quirked his eyebrows at her, a silent opportunity for explanation. After a moment, he repeated slowly, with a bemused smile on his face, "'Nobody's fitter than me'?"

Cordelia's attention returned to the tickets in her hands. "Slip of the tongue."

"Really?"

She glared at him. "Yes! Okay! As an ex-boyfriend, it's no surprise that you are very good-looking." Her eyes flitted back down to the tickets and she grumbled, "It's not as though admitting you're handsome means I want to jump in bed with you."

"But you do want to take me to the match?"

Cordelia shot him a begrudging look. "Yes, I do. If you still want to go."

James gave her a small smile. "Yeah – uh – that'd be ace."

"Brilliant."

A few moments passed, and James checked his watch. "What are your plans for dinner?"

Cordelia shrugged. "Haven't really thought about it. Why?"

"I happen to know a lovely place off Diagon Alley, and if you were interested, I'd love to take you."

She looked at him, a quizzical expression wafting over her face, coupled with a smile. "Dinner date with James Potter?"

The James Potter in question made a disparaging noise. "That annoying Quidditch bloke? Nah – hot _Prophet _reporter. Cordelia Gilbert. _Way_ better date."

"Well, it seems to be your lucky day."

He looked her up and down, pointing to her flannel pajama bottoms. "You mightn't want to go out in those, though. I mean – you can if you want, but it'll be cold and you might receive some looks."

"No," Cordelia laughed. "I think I might change. Give me a second."

She jumped off the couch, leaving her unopened butterbeer bottle on the coffee table. She had reached the door to her bedroom when James called after her.

"I like the top, though. Keep that on."

"Are you sure?" she called back, turning to display the _Potter_ on the back of the jersey.

"What's the worst that could happen?"

"Rita Skeeter? _Witch Weekly_?"

James shook his head, nonchalant. "Nothing to worry about."

"Perhaps I shouldn't have worn your jersey out in the biggest concentration of magical citizens that Britain has to offer," Cordelia muttered to James as they approached the restaurant. She slipped her arm out of where it had been previously interwoven with his.

Feeling the absence of her touch through his coat, James whirled around to survey their surroundings. "Why's that?"

"_Because_ your ex-girlfriend is right over there, along with her sexy Quidditch player."

"What, and you don't want her to see you with _your_ sexy Quidditch player?"

Cordelia elbowed him – "you're not my sexy _anything_", followed by "but I _am_ sexy, Poppins?" – and moved to further button up her coat. Monique la Roux had spotted them, and, unfortunately, her Welsh Quidditch-playing boyfriend Simon Redgrave was a distant friend of James's. Simon waved to James and pulled a disgruntled Monique across the crowded street to meet them. Monique had left the Magpies' management after her break-up with James and now worked in Caerphilly, where she met Simon. She still looked immaculate, perfectly made up with bright red lipstick and an indigo beanie on her head. Her eyes trailed from James to Cordelia, along James's arm that had curved over to the small of Cordelia's back; the gaze paused at Cordelia's neckline, where the familiar Montrose colours were displayed. She did not smile.

"Hiya, James!" said Simon brightly, oblivious to Monique's less-than-content condition.

"How are you, Simon?" replied James. He smiled politely at both Simon and Monique.

"Who's this you've got with you, then?" Simon asked.

James looked down at Cordelia, who was just about to introduce herself, when Monique said, "This is Cordelia Gilbert, Simon. She is James's reporter friend."

"Oh! Hello!" Simon extended a hand and shook Cordelia's. "What do you write about?"

"Quidditch," said Cordelia. "For the _Prophet_."

Simon looked momentarily confused, but then pointed to James and said, "So you must work with his mother, then! That must be a bit…" He made a face that both James and Cordelia deduced was meant to mean _awkward_.

The two of them exchanged a glance then exclaimed simultaneously, "No!"

"No, it's – uh – it's not like that," James spluttered, retracting his arm from Cordelia's back and raising both up as though in surrender.

"Absolutely not – no – we're just friends," Cordelia explained quickly. She ignored Monique's eyes on her collar and turned to James, laughing transparently.

Simon winked at them. "Well, whatever you say!"

Monique looked at him fondly. "We are going to be late for dinner, Simon." Her eyes flicked up to James. "We will be meeting with the managers for the national Quidditch team. Not everybody is so lucky."

"Alright then, Mon!" Simon laughed. "_Mon_. Sometimes I call us 'Simonique'!" His eyes scrunched up. "I _do_ like that. We'll be seeing you, then!"

He pulled Monique away by the hand and James and Cordelia stared after them.

"I see that you don't have this good a relationship with all of your ex-girlfriends," the latter remarked.

James smirked. "I don't have any kind of relationship with any of them, to be honest."

"So I'm special?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

They stepped into the restaurant with James grumbling, "'not everybody is so lucky'? I met Viktor Krum at age _nine!_"

"I know, sexy Quidditch player, I know."

* * *

The sun had long set when they arrived home, and _home_ had begun to refer to either her house or his but neither one mutually yet. The ceiling of the apartment was swirling with stars, dark shades of purple and black. Their journey had spanned from Diagon Alley to Muggle London (a favourite of theirs, for James knew lots and Cordelia did not) and now it was late, and both were exhausted.

"You can stick around a while if you like," said Cordelia.

James, following her into the living room, shrugged his hands into his pockets. "I couldn't very well leave my butterbeer, could I?"

"_Your_ butterbeer?" Cordelia repeated.

He smirked at her. "Yeah, yeah, it's _your_ gift."

They made their way back to the couch, collapsing down onto it in one fluid motion. Cordelia moved the books onto the coffee table, followed by the tickets, and then scooted closer to James, who wound an arm around her and used the other to produce his wand to open two of the butterbeer bottles. One of these, he handed to Cordelia, who clinked it against his.

"Cheers."

"Cheers indeed."

The conversation meandered from James's personal recount of the 2014 Quidditch World Cup to Cordelia's personal recount of the first time she happened across Rita Skeeter in the _Prophet_ offices. Very soon, they had leapt from butterbeer to hot chocolate, and it was James was making the drinks because Cordelia had started leafing through one of the books he had brought her and had not resurfaced for fifteen minutes.

When James at last did retrieve Cordelia's attention, he handed her a hot chocolate.

"You're a saint."

"Saint Potter," he said slowly. "I kind of like the sound of that. Don't let Ted know, though."

Cordelia smiled. "How _is_ Teddy? I almost forgot it was his and Victoire's wedding anniversary."

"Well, the toddler's at Andromeda's, so I'm guessing Ted and Vic are enjoying themselves _very_ much."

James made a face and they both laughed. A moment of silence followed, in which James looked at the display of stars above them and Cordelia looked into her hot chocolate and looked at James and then looked away again.

"If you're staring at me, Cordelia…"

"It's not staring if you look away!"

"_Were _you staring at me?"

"_No_. Merlin. I was wondering if you really went out with Isla Warbeck."

James groaned. "Last January?"

"Whenever."

"I did, actually. It was rubbish, though," he told her quickly. In a lower voice, he added, "Lots of the dates I've been on in the past couple of years have been rubbish."

Cordelia took a sip of her hot chocolate, cradling the mug in her hands. "Why do you go on so many rubbish dates, then? How do you even _go_ on a date?"

"What do you mean?"

"I just don't really understand how things like that work. I mean, I understand _dates_, but I don't understand the anatomy of it. Like, you meet someone, think they're fit, then ask them out, presumably to eat, which is actually the most awkward thing ever…"

James raised his eyebrows slightly, gesturing her on.

"I don't get why people have to have such romantic structure. Isn't half of what makes things so special that they sneak up on you out of nowhere? _Witch Weekly_'s got article after article on What To Do When You Get To Date Three. Nothing seems real about it."

"We went on dates, Poppins. You can't hate _dates_."

She shook her head. "I don't hate _dates_; I hate only getting to know people via _dating_."

"So you're deeply morally opposed to the idea of not actually knowing somebody before you start taking them out."

"I'm just saying that perhaps your dates wouldn't have been rubbish if you'd known the person really well beforehand."

"That's not always the reason dates are rubbish, Poppins."

"Oh?"

"Well," said James slowly, "a date's going to be rubbish if someone on the date isn't committed to it."

"What do you mean by that? Lack of effort, or…?"

"Yes and no. I mean, if they fancied someone else. Or couldn't stop comparing their date to whoever it was that they fancied. That'd make for a pretty rubbish date, wouldn't it?"

Cordelia looked over at him. "Who's broken _your_ heart?"

James laughed. "Oh, Gilbert. You forget. I don't have one."

* * *

He fell asleep first, with an empty mug hot chocolate on the edge of the couch beside him. Cordelia was reading, letting out an excited squeal every so often to share a newfound fact about the author about whom the book was written. She poked her head up from under his arm, her eyes bright. "James – "

She pressed her lips shut, not wanting to wake him. If it was anybody else who had fallen asleep to her reading revelations, she might have been upset – perhaps even offended. Instead, Cordelia slid her book onto the coffee table and pulled out her wand, Summoning the blankets from her bedroom. They floated down the corridor like clouds, individual strands of fabric glinting in the magically rendered starlight.

Cordelia took the arm James had placed around her and carefully dropped it to his side, watching the blankets wrapping around him, right down to his toes. Even though his head was lolled back against the couch and his mouth was slightly open, he still shone brighter than the stars above them and she still happened to think so – and it still scared her, the same amount if not more than it had at sixteen. A rosy pink glow began to warm up the room, and it was a sensation Cordelia knew well. She raised her wand up to the ceiling, which remained brimming with constellations but was now crimson, not midnight blue. The sight itself was beautiful, unlike any naturally occurring phenomenon she had ever witnessed, but Cordelia waved her wand and darkened it nonetheless.

She could have gone and slept in her bedroom and she definitely knew it, but instead of even bringing the mattress to the living room, Cordelia curled up on the other side of the couch, her knees brushing against the blankets that she had given to James.

If ever anybody hummed old Muggle songs in Cordelia's apartment, it was usually the girl herself. However, on this particular morning, when Cordelia awoke in a ball on the couch with a duvet over her, this was not the case. She rubbed her eyes and peeked over the back of the couch to investigate the sound coming from the kitchen. James, with a cheerful expression and his wand in his hand, danced from bench to bench, conducting pots and pans as the food inside them sizzled. Cordelia sat up.

"Are you making breakfast?"

"Oh!" James's smile brightened. "I didn't know you were awake. Good morning, Poppins. Hope you don't mind," he added, gesturing around, "I've taken up residence in your kitchen."

She made a drowsy attempt at a grin, pushed the duvet aside, and moved to join him in front of the array of pans.

"I thought you would have gone by now."

James raised his eyebrows. "I fell asleep on your couch and woke up with blankets on. I figured if you wanted me gone, Cordelia, you would've left me to freeze."

"Speaking of those blankets, and waking up with them on," she said, leaning over what appeared to be French toast, "I didn't remember falling asleep with one over me, myself."

James's attention returned to his cooking. "I woke up in the night and you were cold."

"You woke up in the night and you still stayed?"

"Yeah," he told her, eyes still firmly on the now-cooked bacon. "I guess I did."

In that moment, Cordelia Gilbert thought she might very well have been in love with James Potter. Again.

She didn't tell him, though; she didn't dare.

* * *

When James appeared in his drawing room, he was not the only one there. Albus lay across the couch, deep in one of his brother's Quidditch encyclopedias, and it took James stubbing his toe on the side of a chair for Al to notice he had company at all. He closed the book and sat up, his green eyes narrowing.

"Where have _you_ been?"  
James flung himself down onto the couch beside his brother. "Cordelia's."

This answer clearly came as a shock to Albus, who grabbed James's arm. "_All night?_"

"Yeah," said James ambivalently, not noticing his brother's surprised face. "I went over there with some books and butterbeer and a couple of tickets to the Kiwi-Oz match, and then we hung out, went to dinner, went back to her place, and ended up sleeping together on the couch."

Albus continued to stare at him. "You – uh – you… _slept_ together?"

James blushed a shade of red similar to the stray Gryffindor sock he had previously discovered lying under one of the couch's pillows. "Not in a euphemistic sense. We're just mates, Poppins and I."

"Do you go on dates with all your friends? Stay the night at their houses; _literally_ sleep with them on their couch? Do you buy them gifts on a whim?"

Still blushing, James replied, "It wasn't necessarily on a whim. I mean, yesterday was the four-year anniversary of her grandmother's death. And I didn't buy her anything for Christmas, so…"

"You know, you're actually _proving_ my point." Albus looked down at his hands. "Scorpius is _not_ going to be happy."

"What?" James asked quickly. "Is _he_ keen on her now? I thought he was with Patricia Day?"

"He is! And he doesn't fancy Cordelia – might've a bit when he was thirteen, but certainly not now."

"Then why won't he be happy about me sleeping with her?"

"Stop _saying_ that!"

"But now you've pointed it out I kind of can't help it!" James protested gleefully. "Come on, Al – where's your sense of humor?"

Albus glared at him. "_You_ try being all sunshine and euphemisms when you've got a girlfriend who can't wait to finish with you."

The smile on James's face was immediately traded in for a frown. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Andy," Albus groaned, his expression the same as his brother's. "She's been so _absent_. I'm busy with Auror stuff, yeah? So when I have time to go up and see her, I do my best! She just keeps brushing me off for catering things and telling me to hang out with Sennen – "

" – Sennen?"

" – Andy's friend," Albus quickly explained. "The one she runs the shop with. Real cute girl, listens to Muggle music like you. Mum and Dad would like her. _Anyway_ – I've not spent a decent amount of time with Andy since at least New Year's Eve, and that was while everybody else was there, too. Like Scorpius and all that. We're just not seeing each other anymore."

James was quiet a moment, then let out a deep sigh. "That's heavy, brother."

"It is, a little, isn't it?"

James scooted over and put his arm around Albus's shoulders. "You don't think there's somebody else, do you?"

"_Merlin_, James!" Albus tried to pull away, to no avail.

"I just ask that because the two of you were inseparable not two years ago, crying about spiders and loving each other and – "

"Exactly! _Two_ _years ago!_" He exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. "It's not _like_ that anymore."

"You've lasted three years, Al – "

" – _Lasted!_"

"Hey! Three years is a great feat! My longest relationship – "

" – Seems to be rolling back into fruition, _actually_," Albus muttered.

James rolled his eyes. "Look, do you want my advice or not?"

"You tend to give pretty shoddy advice, James."

"Yes – well – _thank you_ – " He gave Al's shoulders a squeeze. "I reckon you should sit her down, just the two of you, and have an honest chat about what's going on. I love mocking you, Al, but it's no fun when you're genuinely upset. And Fawcett shouldn't be conflicted either. You're a catch."

"Like a Snitch?"

"Uh…" James scrunched his nose. "Perhaps a Quaffle."

Al scowled at him, and James laughed. "No, I'm just joshing you. Like a Snitch."

* * *

"Scorpius Malfoy, get that obscenely irritating look off your face."

"Or what?"

"Or… I slept with James last week."

Scorpius, beside Cordelia on the couch of her apartment, began to choke on his cinnamon tea. Curled up to his left, Cordelia laughed. "On this very couch, too."

Scorpius's eyes widened further, and he coughed out, "if it weren't for this cup of tea I'd jump off this godforsaken furniture and Disapparate immediately." He stared at Cordelia. "I can't believe you actually _did_, though – after insisting you wouldn't – after insisting you didn't _want_ to. Merlin, for so _long_, Cordelia, I – _why are you laughing at me, Cordelia the coital coquette?_"

"While I applaud you for your spontaneous alliteration – and while we could very easily launch into whether or not it was alliteration or consonance – I think first I'll need to quell your displeasure and reassure you that all sleeping was very much _just_ that."

"What do you mean?"

"He came over and we went out for tea and we fell asleep – _well_ – he fell asleep while I was reading a book, and – "

" – Spare me the details, dearest," said Scorpius, waving a hand.

He pulled out his wand and sent his now empty cup of tea back to the sink, where it began to wash itself out.

"Are you sure you don't want anymore?" asked Cordelia.

"No, no, I'll probably have to down something at my grandmother's, so I'd best leave some room."

"Oh, you're going to see your grandparents?"

Scorpius shrugged. "Going to see my great aunt, really. Gran's taking me."

"Which great aunt is this?"

"Tonks."

Cordelia's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, Teddy's one!" She smiled. "From what I've heard, she's lovely."

Scorpius gave a nonchalant nod. "Yes, I went over there a lot more when I was younger. Lupin's a bit older than me, though, so he wasn't around much when I went. Nice bloke, though, definitely."

Cordelia looked intrigued. "Sorry, I just had no idea that you two knew each other."

"It's okay – I doubt he's got much love for me, really. Spent most of his childhood with the Potters, so I don't blame him for not relishing the Malfoys he was dealt."

"It's not the same, though, really – "

" – We _did_ play a game of Quidditch together once, though. Back when I was six and still doing more of the baby leagues stuff." Scorpius grinned. "He was dreadfully complimentary of my pint-sized racing broom, though."

Cordelia smiled, and both of them turned at the sound of a knock at the apartment door.

"Can I come in? It's Al! Is there a Malfoy in there?"

Cordelia began to shout back "yes!" but Scorpius silenced her with a jovial, "I go by 'Greengrass' now, actually!"

Albus opened the door grinning and hurried through the corridor to meet his friends. "That would look beautiful on a Christmas card."

"_Well_, I dislike the majority of my father's family, so I may as well be upfront about it."

Acknowledging Cordelia's presence with a bow, Albus told her, "I'm sorry I don't bear gifts, unlike the previous Potter who visited."

Cordelia blushed, and Scorpius turned to her with narrowed eyes. "He brought you _gifts_, too? Merlin, I think somebody needs to learn my lovely beautiful girl can't be won over with such frivolities."

"James _did_ ask me if you were keen on Cordelia," Albus admitted to Scorpius, sinking down into the seat opposite his friends. "I told him you were still with Trish – but if _she's_ not your 'lovely beautiful girl', then…"

"Oh, no," Cordelia said matter-of-factly, "I'm Scorpius's 'lovely beautiful girl', and Patricia is Scorpius's 'beautiful girl whom he loves'." She turned to Scorpius with a grin on her face. "Big difference, isn't there? Oh – tea, Al? Butterbeer?"

"A butterbeer would be great, actually."

"D'you have any food, dearest?"

She rolled her eyes at Scorpius. "I shall go and check. Don't snog each other while I'm gone."

"_Excuse me_," said Scorpius, feigning outrage.

"It's happened before," Albus reasoned as they watched Cordelia disappear around the corner.

Once she was definitely gone, Scorpius leaned forward to his friend. "Listen, Al – I've been having all these thoughts about Lily and I…"

Entirely taken aback by the abrupt change in subject, Albus's green eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "What the _f_ – "

Scorpius went white. "No!" he said quickly, cutting off Al's tirade. "Not like that!"

"_Mostly_ not like that, or not like that at all?"

"Which will offend you less?"

"_Scorpius!_"

"No! Joking aside – " He cleared his throat so to convey how businesslike he felt about the whole thing. Definitely. Businesslike. That was it. His palms weren't sweaty. He wasn't even remotely afraid Al would punch him. " – Lily told me, last time we spoke, that she and I were thinking along the same lines. Wanting to change the world and all that. Make things better for everybody."

With eyes still slightly larger than the normal human's, Albus motioned for him to continue explaining. "Yeah?"

"Well… I know the whole 'Potter' thing can be a burden – believe me, there are a hell of a lot of misconceptions about me as a 'Malfoy' – but if we use our status, take advantage of the pasts our families have shared – "

" – What, like my parents saved the wizarding world and your dad's lot were a bunch of Death Eaters?"

" – Well, I'm _trying_ not to take offence," Scorpius muttered, "but yes. By presenting a united front, we can capture the attention of twice as many people, of multiple demographics."

"Does Lily know about this?"

"Does Lily know about what? Is Scorpius secretly enamored of her?" This from Cordelia, who re-entered the room with Al's butterbeer and several types of biscuits.

Both boys went red, but for two entirely different reasons.

* * *

Fred Weasley fell backwards across the bed, resting his head on his wife's lap. "I swear, if _one_ more person asks me when we're planning on having children, I may throw a shelf at their head."

"Nice one," said Barbara, "I was going to suggest a couple of Bludgers."

"Or a heavier option, like your workload."

She rolled her eyes, not wanting to think of work at a time like this, when the sun was setting through the bedroom window and she was surrounded by the loveliest things with which she had ever slept – duvets, eiderdowns, pillows, her husband. The Ministry was brilliant, as she got to plan Quidditch Cups and even more niche tournaments, like the International Gobstones Championship, but beyond collaborating with Will Bowen, another Department of International Magical Cooperation worker, things were repetitive, dull. The thought of it almost sent her to sleep, though that could have been the pillow she was propped up against.

"I don't want to talk about work," she said finally. "I want to run away to New York."

Fred replied, "I didn't love it there like you did. But I could see the beauty of living in New York if I was with you."

"Well, good news. You're stuck with me."

She lifted her left hand to hover above his eyes, the two bands of precious metal glinting in the light of the setting sun. Fred smiled. "I _do_ like being stuck with you. I hope you like it as much as I like it."

"I _love_ it," she told him, half singing as she spoke. "I love you and I intend to tell you so until the words start to sound all funny, like they aren't words at all. I'll learn every language just to tell you how much I love you."

"Same," said Fred. "But I might also learn the swear words."

She laughed. "Doesn't that go without saying?"

"I don't know, I thought it should've been said. Just so we could clarify."

"Good."

A comfortable silence settled between them, which Fred broke to say, "I wouldn't mind having a kid though. I know it's a lot more troublesome on your part, what with the first nine months and all, but I really wouldn't mind having a kid."

"At twenty-one, though?" Barbara asked, giggling.

"My wit and your temperament? An eclectic mix of ethnicities?"

"I don't doubt our hypothetical child would be very cute, Fred. But what about my job?"

"What about it?" He seemed to enjoy flinging her responsibility to the Ministry aside. "You say you hate it all the time. Don't you think you should focus on things you really love? Like Dad and I and Uncle Ron have the shop? What do you _love_?"

Barbara's eyebrows furrowed. "Lots of things."

"New York, for example," said Fred. "What do you love about New York?"

"The shows."

"But the Muggles have a West End, don't they? Here?"

"Yes, they do," she told him, "but you never want to go with me."

"So you love shows, yeah? Have you ever thought about running them? Being part of them? Teaching people how to be better at being in them?"

Barbara blinked a few times. "I did used to beg my mum to transfer me from Hogwarts to the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts."

Fred looked up at her with a somewhat offended expression. "Not truly? Leave Hogwarts?"

"It got harder to reason with her after you were permanently in the picture."

"I should hope so," he grumbled.

Barbara gave him a moment to take the 'dis' from his 'gruntle'. Once he was in more of a chipper mood, he proposed, "Why don't you apply for a job there?"

"What, at WADA?"

"Yes, at WADA!"

"Really?"

"Yes, weally."

They both snickered.

"In all fairness," said Fred, "saying 'WADA' makes you sound like you've got a lisp."

* * *

"For the last time, Jeremy Peakes, I do not wish to go on a date with you to Hogsmeade. You've asked more than twelve times, and I really do appreciate the gesture, but I'm afraid you just don't particularly interest me."

Lucy leaned over Gryffindor table to pat Jeremy's hand lightly. "She doesn't know how harsh she sounds. Sorry about that."

"No, it's really fine!" said Jeremy in a tone as bright as the smile he had maintained throughout the entirety of the interaction. "I'll just be down there with Poppy."

As he departed, Lily sighed into her toast. She liked Peakes, and he was a decent Beater, but it didn't change the fact that not a single bone in her body was even at all attracted to him. Lucy nudged her, very nearly stabbing Lily with the side of her shining Head Girl pin.

"You know, he's really not that bad."

"I know he's not," said Lily miserably. "But I can't help not fancying him." She looked down the table, where Jeremy was now laughing at something Poppy Coote had said. "I don't know why he's not seeing her. They've known each other years."

Lucy took a sip of pumpkin juice and replied, "I don't know why you're not interested in anyone. Have you ever been?"

"Oi – who are _you_ interested in, then? You've never had a boyfriend!"

Lucy went pink.

Lily poked her tongue out. "I reckon Aidan Boot's keen on you."

Lucy went pinker still, but recovered with a shake of her head. "This isn't about me, or my Potions partner. This is about your crush on a man who's spoken for."

Lily slapped her. "I should never have even _mentioned_ that to you!" she whispered shortly. "And he's scarcely a _man_, either. _Merlin_, if _Neville_ heard you!"

They had rather the burden of sitting closest to the teachers' table on this particular morning, and Neville Longbottom was barely twenty feet away, chatting to his wife Hannah, the relatively new matron.

"Oh, he isn't _listening_," Lucy snapped.

"_Still_," said Lily. "You mustn't tell anyone. _Hugo_ can't even know, after what happened with Rose."

"Lily, you're _shaking_."

Closer inspection of her hands proved that, yes, she was. She was shaking, and Lily never shook. Her hands were paler than ever, and she shook. This was not good. Not good at _all_.

"Don't you need to write to Al this week as well?"

Lily sighed, forgetting her toast altogether. "The last thing I want to think about whilst writing to my brother is my incorrigible crush on his best friend."


	6. Valentine's And Other Days

**Author's note:** JKR owns the rights and the lefts! This one's a humdinger!

* * *

**Chapter Six**

"**Valentine's And Other Days"**

**Or**

"**I Don't Want To Be Your Friend"**

* * *

Scorpius Malfoy lit the parchment aflame with a lazy flick of his wand and bit back a reprimand he knew would come from anyone else. It was inappropriate to write to a girl who didn't have a friend attached at the L. It was even more inappropriate to write to a best friend's sister, as this walked the line between comrade and brother and either way ended with somebody punched in the face. He sighed deeply, pulled a stray pair of slacks on over his underwear, and left his unmade bed in favour of the kitchen.

Patricia was in Manchester and Scorpius felt sick. He loved her – he wanted to. She was beautiful and funny and everything he had ever wanted, but nothing about her screamed that she needed him. She had left her other jobs in favour of Tumbleweed, and the amount of times the four boys had slept in Scorpius's penthouse apartment almost made him dizzy. Their last conversation had consisted of her wanting to cut her hair and him clinging to an image that she shouted was no longer her. It was less of a conversation and more of an argument and he really didn't think she loved him anymore.

Did he need her to love him? He had always thought so. Perhaps he was infatuated with the idea of being loved, and he didn't care too much for who was doing it.

* * *

Work was rubbish, and there was nothing for it but frankness. Scorpius could do very little to quell the unrest building up in his chest; blending drinks and chatting up patrons was perfectly fine for a nineteen-year-old, but he had long stopped thinking of his life day by day.

With days on the agenda, Patricia entered the pub through the nearest fireplace, and as the green flames licked her ankles, Scorpius cleared his throat.

"Hello, dearest love of mine."

He leaned over the bar to kiss Patricia on the cheek, and tried not to roll his eyes as Benji Marchbanks popped into existence beside her.

"Hello, Scorpius," said the bassist.

"Hello, Benji," said the bartender.

"The boys are staying the night again," Patricia explained.

Benji smiled good-naturedly. "Just if it's all right with you, Scorpius. Wouldn't want to intrude."

"Of course not," Scorpius replied, busying himself with cleaning dirty glasses. "No, I'll just kip with a mate. Give you lot more room."

Patricia's face fell, and she made to extend a hand over the bar but Scorpius did not allow it.

"Really, it's fine. I'll probably get a better night's sleep somewhere else, anyway – what with you lot up all night rehearsing."

"Whose house are you going to?" Patricia asked, leaning closer. "Not Al's, I presume?"

"And hang out with his mum and dad?" Scorpius smirked. "No, I can't think of my dad liking that too much."

He could not help but think that spending an extended period of time with Albus's parents would leave him very much advantaged in regards to their daughter, but the thought was quickly pushed from his mind. He wasn't allowed to think about Lily like that! The evidence of that was not only blatant in Al but also directly in front of him, a pair of brown eyes and lips he had kissed on countless occasions.

"No, I'll call in on Cordelia," Scorpius told his girlfriend and the boy with whom she seemed to spend the most time. "If James isn't going over, she'll have space."

A glimmer of confusion spread over Patricia's face and it occurred to Scorpius that he and Al were privy to information that the band manager was not. Rather than explain things to her, however, he asked, "Is that all, then?"

"Yes," said Patricia, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Thanks _so_ much. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Scorpius shrugged. "I'll see you when I see you."

* * *

"You don't mind me passing out on your couch, do you?"

Cordelia smiled at him. "Of course not."

"Then again, you're not picky with people you let stay."

Looking up once more from the magical typewriter on which she was constructing her next _Prophet_ article, Cordelia shook her head at him. "You should be a lot kinder to the girl who's letting you stay at her place."

"You should be a lot less reprimanding of the company you play host to."

"Oh, save it for a Triwizard Tournament, Greengrass."

Scorpius pulled himself up from where he had been stretched out on Cordelia's couch and moved to join her at the desk on the other side of the room. He leaned over her shoulder, squinting to read the words she had already typed.

"A Magpies piece, eh?" Scorpius nudged her hair with his forehead, and Cordelia giggled.

"Yes, but I'm not being subjective."

"How many times have you gone off-topic admiring James's hair?"

She shook her head. "Not once. I am a _serious_ journalist, with no flailing or verbosity."

"Oh, Cordelia, what's an article without some verbosity?"

"The better half of the _Prophet_, Scorp."

He sighed, standing as his back began to ache from leaning. "Can we do something when you're done?"

"Like what?"

"I like that Muggle gallery across from the cathedral."

"Okay, we can go there."

* * *

They were matched for height, with help from the heels of Cordelia's boots. Scorpius had grown since the age of sixteen, and Cordelia had not, so the pair walked along the crowded bridge side by side, trying to ignore the couples surrounding them like cars on a busy road.

"So what are your Valentine's plans, then?" Cordelia asked once they reached the large glass doors of the art gallery.

He shrugged. "I could ask the same of you, couldn't I?"

She furrowed her eyebrows, noting his statement with a quizzical air. "And what leads you to say that?"

"Come on, Cords," he threw a glance in her direction. "It's not like you and James are any good at being platonic, and there's certainly not been anyone else."

They moved up the stairs, dodging tourists and art enthusiasts with every step. After a period of silence, Cordelia sighed.

"Alright, there's no point in denying it," she admitted in a defeated tone.

Scorpius head perked up like a golden retriever.

"Something _did_ happen – "

" – _You didn't sleep, did you?_" Scorpius practically shouted.

Cordelia grabbed his wrist, sending apologetic looks to passersby. "Yes, we did! It wasn't then. Back before Christmas!"

"Potter must have had a very happy holidays," he muttered.

Red in the face, Cordelia shook her head. "There was mistletoe. I kissed him. It was a peck – nothing more, nothing less. And we remain friends to this day."

"But you kissed."

"Yes."

"You don't _kiss your friends!_"

She stared at him incredulously. "You're one to talk!"

"What?" Scorpius blinked. "Are you talking about _Al?_"

"Yes!"

Also a little pink, he sighed. "That was once, and it was a life or death situation."

"Aren't all kisses?"

"Cordelia, seriously."

"I am _completely_ serious," she said with a giggle.

* * *

"Wow. I can leave and come back if you want."

Cordelia made a manic flailing motion that seemed to indicate she wanted James to stay on her doorstep, despite the fact he had just seen a shirtless Scorpius Malfoy on the couch down the hall.

"No – clearly, you enjoy breaking up four-year relationships and letting any half-decent bloke sleep on your couch."

"Don't undersell yourself, Potter!" Scorpius called. "You're easily decent-looking."

Cordelia rolled her eyes and slipped out of her apartment, closing the door behind her. She now stood a foot from James in the deserted atrium by which apartments 15 to 19 were accessed. The Potter boy, for once, did not seem entirely focused on Cordelia.

"Why's he not wearing a shirt, then?" He demanded of Scorpius. "It's still months before summer properly sets in – "

" – Bloody hell, James, I'd have thought you were versed in the idiosyncrasies of Scorpius Malfoy by now."

"Well, clearly not when he's half-naked in _your_ flat." He grinned down at her, realizing their isolated situation. "Hi. Thought I'd pop round."

Cordelia smiled back. "Hi. Was there a reason?"

"Do I have to have a reason to enjoy hanging out with you, Poppins?"

"No, but I like it when you compliment me."

James laughed. "Conceited little piece of work, aren't you?"

"Oh, I don't think I'm little."

Having somehow inherited height genes not dissimilar to his uncle Ron's, James stood remarkably tall over Cordelia. He stepped closer, until she was forced to look up at him, and then replied, "You're littler than me. Both in height and build." He took her right arm and wrapped his hand around her wrist. "See? A gust of wind could knock this fragile calcium archipelago out of alignment."

"Pity," she replied, retrieving her arm from his grasp. "How small a thing it takes to ruin such verbose poetry."

"Do you think I'm verbose?"

"Scorpius thinks _I'm_ verbose."

"Cordelia, you _are_ highly verbose."

"If so then perhaps I caught it off you."

A glimmer of something flashed across James's features, but he recovered so fast Cordelia barely had the chance to dissect it. Nevertheless, she continued speaking.

"Though you and I always _were_ verbose in rather a different way, weren't we?"

James nodded in agreement with this. "I was rugged and you were refined."

"I suppose I let you think that."

"What, that I was rugged or that you were refined?"

"The most refined thing about me, both then and now, is my obsession with dead poets – Muggle or magical, wherever the two meet."

"I enjoy the fact that you just let me call myself ruggedly handsome."

She shrugged, a faint pinkness appearing in her cheeks. "One truth for one lie."

"Cordelia, just call me hot. It'll be much more straightforward. Stop waiting for me to say it so you can agree."

He dodged her hand as it made to hit him, chuckling all the while.

"I'm not going to say anything. But I think you should remember who looks better in your Magpies jersey."

There came a gagging sound from behind Cordelia, and James rolled his eyes.

"Something bother you, Malfoy?"

Scorpius, standing in the open doorframe, groaned. "If that's how friends speak to each other, I'm clearly not doing it right."

Cordelia went faintly pink. "Scorpius…"

"Tell me," said James, folding his arms. He pointed to Scorpius. "Do you _own_ a shirt?"

With a quirk of his eyebrows, the blond replied, "We're a bit short on them over at the Manor. Them, and pricks. But you seem to know all about those, so – "

" – _All right_," Cordelia interrupted loudly. She wrapped an arm around James and then forced Scorpius closer so she could do the same to him. "Why can't we pass on the malicious testosterone contest, and just learn to enjoy each other's company?"

Scorpius raised a finger. "If and only if we can call it a contes – "

" – A _contestosterone_?" James offered.

Biting back a smile, Scorpius nodded. "Not bad, Potter."

Cordelia beamed at the two boys. "Great minds think alike!"

The trio ventured back inside Cordelia's apartment, with talks of _so you're my best friend's brother_ and _so you're my brother's best friend_.

* * *

Meanwhile, the brother and best friend in question – for they were rather obviously one person – sat in an apartment in Bristol, where Sennen Cartwright was making him a cup of tea. There was a record player in the corner playing a song by a band named The Drowners, with whom Albus was not even remotely familiar. The entire place smelled like sweets, and given the fact that he had visited the flat many times before, Albus felt very at home. (They had a television, and it deeply intrigued him.)

Technically, the flat belonged to Sennen, but Andy had been living in a magically constructed spare room for the past three months. It was in this spare room that Andy was now getting changed for their day out. She had overslept, and Albus had arrived with a bouquet of yellow tulips, and the ex-Hufflepuff who opened the front door was not Andy, but Sennen, who caught sight of the tulips and, like Albus, blushed a bright shade of crimson.

"I'm sure she won't be too long," said Sennen, handing Albus his tea and taking a seat beside him on the sofa.

"Wasn't up too late watching that thing, was she?"

He pointed to the television in front of them and Sennen laughed.

"Oh, no. She doesn't like watching it with me because I 'get too emotional'." She turned to Albus. "It's mostly just period dramas and the occasional _Gilmore Girls_ rerun. I do quite like a good Jess Mariano."

Albus raised his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, I have no idea who or what that is."

She grinned. "Jess is a _he_. All you need to know is he's much better than Dean."

"I'll take your word for it."

Andrea Fawcett could hear the muffled sound of her boyfriend in the lounge. She was carefully inspecting the wings of her eyeliner, bent over the en suite bathroom sink, and her mind began to wander. Alex's eyeliner, on days when they felt like wearing some, was always perfect. Perhaps they could give her tips. She imagined voluptuous, dressed up Alex holding an eyeliner brush up to Andy's face, with only inches between them. She imagined a spiky-haired leather jacket clad Alex doing the same thing. She imagined things switching from eyeliner to lipstick and then just lips.

Swearing, she shoved the thoughts from her mind and her liquid liner back on the bench beside the sink.

She stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair was up, though rather disobediently; her lips were stained red and her skin a smooth, dark shade. She fiddled with the neckline of her shirt, knowing that what she was doing wasn't fair to herself or Al. It wasn't much of a jump from Al to Alex, though. Her cheeks bloomed with colour that had nothing to do with cosmetics.

"Pull yourself together," she whispered, grabbing her purse and a coat from her bed.

When she entered the living room, Albus and Sennen were both drinking tea, and Albus was in the middle of "So, Jess is the bloke and Rory is the girl?"

Andy put on a smile. "Ready to go?"

Al looked up, almost dazedly. "Oh, yes. You look lovely."

He set his teacup down on the saucer and stood to kiss Andy's cheek. Their hands clasped together.

"See you, Sennen!"

"Later, Al."

Then they span on the spot and the couple Disapparated.

* * *

If she believed in signs, this would have been one. This would have been seventy-three crushed together into the span of two minutes, and the severity of it would have made her head spin. But Andy was not sold too heavily on signs. Instead, she gripped Al's arm and watched as the adorable florist with whom she was moderately infatuated walked right up to them with a smile on their face.

"I didn't know the flowers were for her!" said Alex.

Andy's heart, thudding in her chest, felt as though it had dropped. Usually stomachs dropped but she could have sworn it was her heart. Alex was not speaking to Andy – Alex was speaking to _Al_.

"What flowers, sweetie?" Andy asked through clenched teeth.

Al smacked a hand to his head. "Damn. I – uh – I left them with Sennen, at your place." He turned to Alex. "But yes, this is the tulip girl. Do you know her?"

Alex beamed. "Do I _know_ her? Blimey, I hope so! I'm in her shop every other day, for a cupcake or some catering." They chuckled. "Oh, yes, I know Andy!"

Andy laughed, hoping her nerves weren't showing. "You're very good for our business, Alex. And I'm sure the tulips will be lovely, once I get home to enjoy them."

Alex smiled, then turned to Al. "I'm sorry, you're her…?"

"Boyf – "

" – Mate. _Great_ mate. _Best_ mate," said Andy quickly. She felt very foolish, as though she were digging herself a rather large hole.

Albus stared at her. He withdrew his arm from where it was been intertwined with hers. Then, realizing Alex was present for perhaps the third time, he smiled. "Yes," came the slow confirmation. "That's right. Best mates, Andy and I."

"Well, I shouldn't keep you two from your day," said Alex. "Obviously you've got plans."

Albus nodded, but Andy said, "You're not troubling us at all. Honestly, it's just going to be a lunch and then perhaps some shopping for his brother's birthday or something."

"James's birthday's not for weeks – "

Andy nudged him.

Alex, successfully swayed, turned their attention back to Albus. "So where do you live? For Andy's best mate, I don't think I've seen you round here."

"Oh, that's because I'm doing training in London."

"Training? What for?"

Andy glanced at Albus, who did not bat an eyelid. "Law enforcement."

"Oh! You're going to be a policeman!"

"Scorpius will _love_ this," Andy murmured to Al.

Alex, however, caught wind of this remark, and asked, "Who's that? Scorpius?"

"My best mate," said Al.

Alex's eyebrows furrowed.

"You know what he means," Andy blurted out. "I'm his best mate, but Scorpius is his… _best_ mate."

She winked for good measure – a gesture Alex returned. Albus was going progressively redder in the face, watching his girlfriend converse with a currently feminine florist and care more about the florist than him. He felt slightly sick.

"Lunch," he managed to cough out. "Sorry, Alex."

"Oh, no worries!" said the florist cheerfully. "I have to get back to work anyway. See you tomorrow, Andy."

Almost simpering, Andy replied, "yes, alright. See you!"

Once Alex was out of earshot and the couple had walked on a hundred meters or so, Albus rounded on Andy.

"What the bloody hell was that?" he snapped.

"I panicked!" she replied, panicking.

"Oh – you _panicked_, did you? I'm your _boyfriend_. I've been your boyfriend for _three years_, Andy! Can't tell _that_ to your bloody florist, can you?"

Andy groaned, looking miserable. "That was bad, I admit – "

" – _Bad?_ Andy, I wasn't just _not your boyfriend _– you told Alex I was _gay!_ I could've been a eunuch, and you would've been pleased!"

"You don't understand."

"What don't I understand?" Al asked. "Why can't you tell people I'm your boyfriend? I _am_, aren't I?" He swore, punctuating the curse with an exasperated sigh. "Andy – do you… Merlin…"

She stared up at him. "I tell people you're my boyfriend! That new girl, Lucy, at work…"

"What, so you just can't front up to Alex the florist?"

"Al…"

Albus did not look at her. Instead, he stared over her head, his mind moving a thousand miles a minute. "Alex the florist," he repeated. After a pause, he spoke again. "Is this the same florist whose catering stopped you from the Tumbleweed concert? All those gang hangouts? Almost every major event in the past six months?"

His gaze flickered down to his girlfriend, but now it was she who would not look at him.

Albus swore again. "It _was_, wasn't it? Sennen started to mention something about it once, but she didn't want to tell me anything else. She _insisted_ it wasn't a big deal. Hell, even _James_ asked if there was someone else!"

There were tears in Andy's eyes. Albus was so caught up that he didn't see them.

"Oh, Merlin… this was it, wasn't it? You've been fancying Alex for months and not saying anything! You never told me _anything_. You just got into fights with me about how I was never here!"

"Al, I…"

"What would that have done, Andy? If I was here? Would I have barricaded the flower shop from you? Would that have stopped you being so keen on somebody who wasn't _your boyfriend_?"

"I can't help how I feel, okay?" Andy exclaimed.

Fortunately, they were on rather a deserted street.

"So you do?" came Al's shaky response. He seemed teary, too. "You _do_ have feelings for Alex? Greater feelings than you have for me?"

Andy shook her head. "I don't know, Al. I don't know what I feel if I don't feel anything for you. We've been together so long – it's like a band or something – like a professor, at school – you just can't help things becoming commonplace. I don't know what I am without you… but, with you looking at me like you are now… I think I could be something."

"Something with Alex?"

"Something with… somebody."

"Somebody who's not me, though," he muttered. "Is that what you're saying?"

She shook her head again. "I don't want to. I want to be your friend."

"For heaven's sake, Andy!" he shouted. "Do you what a bloody hit that is? You're my girlfriend. I love you. But Merlin, right now – I feel so incredibly sick of it. Sick of it all. Sick to my _stomach_, of the fact that this has been going on for months!" He stared down at her, his eyes wet and vision blurred. "Did you ever think of it ending like this?"

"Is this the end?" she asked.

"You made it so. Didn't you? Saying Scorpius was my boyfriend? Saying I was your best mate? Sending Sennen to fill your spot while you were off flirting with a Muggle?"

Andy sighed deeply. "Don't say anything you're going to regret."

"You should've thought about that ten minutes ago."

He was bitter and she was exhausted and neither of them should have been. They should have loved each other like the moon loves the stars, like they love to share the evening sky. They should have wound their arms around each other and made it all right. But neither was seventeen anymore and neither thought a kiss would heal everything and neither really wanted it to. One felt betrayed and the other felt guilty and neither felt particularly free. Andy looked up at Albus, who for the first time since his eyes began watering was staring at her square on.

"I think this is it, huh?"

"I don't think I can be your friend for a while," said Albus. "This is like cheating."

"I never did anything – "

" – But you wanted to."

"Just so you know," she said, "it bloody sucked. It _sucked_. I _hate_ myself for screwing things up with you. You deserve to be so happy with someone who loves you as much as I did when we were at school."

Albus smiled bitterly. "Yes, well, if nothing comes of you and Alex after this, consider us three years wasted."

"I guess we're not getting lunch."

"I'm going home. Sennen can keep the tulips."

"I wish you had loved _her_, Al. She wouldn't have done this to you."

Albus shook his head. "I didn't know her then. I only knew you."

"Don't you dare – "

" – Times change." He turned away. "I'll be seeing you."

"Not as much as you used to."

"No. Definitely not."

* * *

Valentine's Day made Lily Potter feel sick. She had a brother whose relationship of three years had just deteriorated before his eyes and another who had been in and out love with the same person for an even longer period of time. She hadn't ever been in love – unless love was catching the Snitch, or a good Idris Fandango album.

Hugo was in love. Lily could tell from watching him enter the Great Hall at lunchtime. It was almost routine; first, he looked to the Gryffindor table, for that was where he was headed, and then he glanced at the Ravenclaw table, to see if Gabbie was looking for him, too. Granted, lots of times she was, and they waved to one-another, but she was not at her table today.

Instead, Lily watched Gabbie sneak up behind Hugo, who was so exceedingly tall and lanky that it was a miracle she could place her hands over his eyes. His hands covered hers, and then both pairs retracted, and both of the owners blushed. Gabbie said something presumably along the lines of _Happy Valentine's Day_, kissed Hugo's cheek, and then hurried off to sit with her Ravenclaw friends. Hugo made his way over to where Lily sat, his fingers prodding his cheek as though he could not quite believe what had just happened.

"I reckon you should just kiss her, mate," Lily admitted as her cousin clambered down onto the bench opposite her.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Lily rolled her eyes. "I've had three years of watching you fancy this girl and do nothing about it. If your taste hasn't changed since fifth year, I'd say you've found a keeper."

"_I'm_ a Keeper," said Hugo.

"That's the spirit!"

"Lily…"

She ignored him. "I happen to know from Mitchell Gilbert that Aidan Boot's brother is going to ask her out."

Hugo coughed into the roast vegetables he had just served himself. "I highly doubt that."

"What – you doubt Mitchell Gilbert? I shall have to write to James…"

"No, it's just… she wouldn't go out with Josiah Boot. He's… not tall enough, o-or funny e – "

" – He's not you?" Lily grinned. "That's what you were going to say, wasn't it? That Gabbie wouldn't fancy him because he's not you. _Well_, no, you wouldn't say it, because you're a bumbling prat, but I _know_ that's the case. I am pretty damn sure she fancies you, my friend. Because Gabbie is a beautiful girl and she's had plenty of opportunity."

Hugo reached across the table to swat at his cousin. "Keep your voice down!"

"What, will she hear me?"

"All of Scotland might!"

"All of Scotland might what?" Lucy asked, setting her books down beside Hugo and causing the fourth-years nearby to scuttle off further down the table. After a moment, she noticed Lily staring at her. "What? Is there something on my face?"

"No," said Hugo, focused on his potato. "Lily's going to bring up the fact you walked to lunch with Aidan Boot. He told me in Arithmancy that he fancies you."

Lucy blushed a shade of red so vibrant her freckles were almost lost. "He – he didn't, did he?"

"I think I can hear perfectly well, thanks," Hugo replied monotonously. "He arith-fancies you."

Lily hooted from the other side of the table and smacked the hand Hugo raised as a high-five, though the boy's attention remained on his lunch.

"Nice one, Hugo!"

Lucy sighed. "Puns aside… have either of you had a stellar Valentine's since last we spoke at breakfast?"

"No," said Lily, spooning pumpkin soup into her mouth. "I've told Hugo to kiss Gabs, but he starts looking like a beetroot whenever I say her name, so there's little to no hope with that one."

"What about you, then?" asked Lucy.

"_Definitely not_," Lily told her.

"What, not even from Peakes?" Hugo, finally aware of something other than his now-empty plate, looked surprised. "He's been keen on you ages."

"I've always preferred him with Poppy," said Lily, and she pointed down the table to where Poppy Coote was nudging Peakes with her elbow as they shared a Transfiguration book. "That just seems more probable to me."

"Any relationship you're not part of seems more probable to you," Lucy muttered.

Lily nodded, splashing her pumpkin soup with the spoon she had so vigorously stabbed into it. "Sounds about right!"

"But I thought you liked someone, didn't you?"

"Yes, Hugo – it's Sc – "

"Shove it down an alabaster inkpot, Lucy!" Lily snapped. She made to kick her female cousin under the table, but hit her male one, and he doubled over, hands leaping to his shin. "Oh! Sorry, Hugo!"

* * *

The sun was setting as Gabbie Sterling sat with Hugo Weasley in the Room of Requirement. There was a large, plush couch beside the window, and the pair sat beside each other, observing the view and doing very little else. In the midst of a conversation on N.E.W.T. exams, Gabbie leaned over and rested her head on Hugo's shoulder.

"I can't imagine this place without you," she told him, eyes on the setting sun.

"Funny that," said Hugo. "I can't imagine you here without me."

"Then again, I suppose I couldn't imagine the school being overrun by arachnids, either. And look where that got us."

They both chuckled, and Hugo plucked up the courage to put an arm around Gabbie's shoulders. Thankfully for him, she did not recoil, but only moved closer.

"That seems like a lifetime ago," he reflected.

"It does, doesn't it?" She was silent a moment, introspective. "But I guess it's just another memory. Like now will be, in an hour's time."

"Not a very nice memory."

"No, definitely not."

Hugo let out a deep sigh. "Gabs, I don't know what I would've done these past couple of years if it weren't for you."

"Rubbish," said Gabbie, unable to see his face from where she leaned against him. "You would've still been top of the form, and Gryffindor Keeper, and a prefect and Head Boy and all that. You don't owe any of that to me, as much credit as I'd love to claim." She half-smiled. "Might've had a girlfriend, actually, if I hadn't scared them all off."

Hugo shook his head. "Nah, I don't think so."

"Come on, don't be stupid. Loads of girls would be happy to be with you."

"I don't know," said Hugo, unsure of what was making him want to proceed, "I've fancied the same girl since I was fifteen."

Gabbie lifted her head to see him. "And who's that, eh?"

Hugo shrugged. "Just some girl."

"Do I know her?"

"I don't know. You might. She has hair like you."

"Blonde?"

"Yeah. And way back when, she used to wear them in these two plaits – " He outlined the motion of the hair with his hands " – and I was chatting to her a while ago, actually, and she said in an hour all this would be a memory. Hopefully a better one than a bunch of spiders, huh?"

Hugo glanced at Gabbie, who was beaming from ear to ear.

"Think you know her, then?" he asked, trying not to smile but failing spectacularly.

Gabbie shook her head, then took his face in her hands and kissed him.

For a moment, Hugo went deathly still, and then his arm tightened around her shoulders and his other hand was on her back and he was kissing her like Lily said he should have. They stayed there entwined for much longer than either would care to admit – well, in reality, a very smug-faced Hugo would tell James at some point it was around thirty minutes, thank you and good night – until the sun had set and Gabbie had leaned so far forward that Hugo's head smacked against the arm of the couch.

"It's way past curfew," said Gabbie once both of them had recovered their breath.

Hugo made a derogatory comment about the curfew involving a swear word or two, and then told her, "I think we should both just stay here the night."

"But I've got homework…"

"And I've just discovered one of my most favourite new pastimes, so give the Head Boy a rest, yeah?"

Gabbie rolled her eyes, and Hugo continued, "In a way, it might actually be _worse _to leave here right now. Because you might not get past the riddle to Ravenclaw Tower, and I _am_ the Head Boy, so I – I could dock points… for snogging me and… and then going to do your homework."

"I bet you've got an Ancient Runes assignment that you're putting off."

"Yes, well… maybe, perhaps. Don't tell my mum, or she'll kill me for not having done it last week, but… _Gabbie_," he sighed. "This is way better than homework."

She laughed. "Revelation from seventeen-year-old boy: snogging is better than homework. I think you might be onto something with that one."

Hugo shook his head at her, and then leaned forward. "I'll need evidentiary support. If I'm going to back that claim."

"In other words, you just want to keep snogging?"

"It's almost like you could be in Ravenclaw."

She shoved him, but then met his lips with hers.

* * *

"I almost can't believe it," Barbara Tennant told her husband for what was probably the seventieth time. "Albus and Andy were together for so long. I can't believe it's over."

Fred, watching her from the bed, sighed. "I think it's a trend – Potter boys getting dumped a couple of weeks before Valentine's. Happened to James, and now Al." He paused, and then continued with: "Can we _not_ talk about my cousins, please? I'd much rather you came back to bed and finished celebrating Valentine's Day."

Barbara wrapped herself up even more tightly in the sheet she had nicked from the bed and began to make her way out of the room.

"Oi, don't do that – seriously, my grandmother keeps asking when we plan to start a family – "

" – That's not making me want to come back to bed – "

" – I know. It wasn't suave at all. I just – I need you – like – like that… who was it your dad liked? Uh – like – like that medical time traveller bloke needed the pretty blonde chick…"

Barbara swiveled on the balls of her feet and returned to the foot of the bed. "Your ridiculously terrible attempts at referencing Muggle pop culture have won me over. Now hurry," she snapped, "I'm going to get too cold without one of these sheets – "

Fred lunged out of bed and pulled her back in with him. "I love you," he told her in between kisses, "even if you've turned me into a cliché."

Their legs were interwoven, and he pulled her closer as though having her arms wrapped around him wasn't enough. She kissed along his jaw while the pair of gold rings on her left hand pressed against the back of his neck.

"I love you," she told him, and he could have sworn she was singing.

There were people walking up and down the street below them, and there were cars and lights and love songs beyond that, and nothing beyond the four walls of their little room mattered, nor would it ever seem to again.

* * *

Somewhere across London, Albus Potter sat in his brother's drawing room with a butterbeer and a Beatles record that he desperately wished James would turn off. Cordelia was over, and Sennen, as well as Louis and his friend Tabitha Perkins and two of the blokes from the Montrose Magpies. James had only invited one, but Luke Meade had invited himself upon hearing that Cordelia would be there, and so Pip Gillan had a mate.

James and Pip were poring over old Quidditch annals previously owned by the former's mother, and Sennen was chatting to Tabitha about Muggle music such as the selection that resounded from the record player in perpetuity. Louis had taken to keeping Albus company when not glancing fondly at Tabitha, which left Luke and Cordelia to converse on the free side of an otherwise annal-ridden couch.

"I've been writing for the _Prophet_ about a year, actually," Cordelia was saying, for Luke had asked her. "I don't know, really, how I ended up getting a full-time job there, but I'm definitely happy about it."

Luke smiled. "Did it have anything to do with the fact you knew Ginny Potter?"

Cordelia blushed, and James looked up from his annals, but neither Luke nor the journalist noticed. "I don't know, I only really knew her through James back then."

"Yeah, people _have_ mentioned you two were… close." Luke leaned closer. "I was told you were his girlfriend back at school, but I can't imagine what would have prompted James to call things off with someone as pretty as you."

James, having forgotten the annals now, felt his face heat up. He watched Cordelia laugh.

"If you're surprised about that, you should've met his other ex-girlfriends. One of them is actually with Simon Redgrave, funnily enough…"

"But you and James are just friends now? All that other stuff's in the past?"

Cordelia glanced sideways at James, and was surprised to find his eyes on her. Not wanting Luke to notice her hesitate, she smiled. "Uh – yes – I'd say so."

When she next looked to James, he had turned back to Pip and the annals.

"But that's funny about Redgrave. Would you say it's a trend that James's exes go for Quidditch players? If you can call Simon one of those, I suppose," Luke muttered.

"That depends on the girl."

"You, for example."

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. "Bit of a one-track mind, aren't you, Luke?"

"Not always. But – "

" – But would I be interested in dating another Magpie? Is that what you're asking?"

Luke blushed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Only if – uh – only if the answer's yes."

Cordelia shrugged. "Wouldn't going out with a teammate's ex be a bit bad for business?"

"Not if there are no residual feelings."

It took everything James Potter had to not lunge across the couch and say, "well, that's a pity, because there's certainly a fair amount of those." But he did not, and Cordelia shrugged once more.

Pip left with the intent of getting an early night, and Louis and Tabitha soon followed. Albus sat with Sennen on the couch, and James crossed the room to take the empty spot beside the latter, despite the fact he had only known her a couple of hours. It was not long before she noticed him glowering at the conversation still ongoing between Luke and Cordelia.

"I know it's not my place," Sennen told James, "but if you're going to sit there and glare up a storm, I think you should probably at least do something about it."

He raised his eyebrows. "Like what? I'm not glaring at anyone."

Al smirked. "James, I can _sense_ the glaring from over here. It's practically tangible."

"Tangible glaring," Sennen repeated.

"I'm not glaring!"

Luke turned to the three of them, and James muttered something along the lines of "oh, finally realized the rest of us are here, have you?" as his teammate said, "I think I'll be off, eh, mate? Thanks for the great time." He reverted his attention to Cordelia, whom he kissed on the cheek, and then said goodbye to before Disapparating.

"What, and right now you're _not smiling_," said Sennen to James, "like you were _not glaring_ before?"

"Al, I'm beginning to not enjoy how astute your friend is."

Cordelia, now standing alone on the other side of the room, furrowed her eyebrows. "What's wrong?"

"What's _wrong?_" James grumbled. He stood, gestured to the kitchen down the hall, and said, "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Still confused, Cordelia followed him out of the room; Al shrugged at her and Sennen mouthed _He hates Luke_. Once they had both entered the kitchen, James leaned against the bench and Cordelia raised her eyebrows.

"Yes?"

"'I'm not into Luke'," James recalled.

"What – I'm not."

"Then what the hell was that in there?" he asked fiercely. "You spent half the night letting him chat you up, and didn't even – "

" – Didn't even _what?_" Cordelia snapped. "Didn't even stop to think of how sulky you were going to be about it? Many apologies for not knowing you had monopoly on flirting with me!"

James let out an exasperated sigh. "I don't _flirt_ with you, Cordelia."

"Then what do you call it every time we interact?"

"Right now, it's half a bloody shouting match is what it is!"

Cordelia groaned. "A shouting match I was subjected to by being polite to a good-looking bloke who was really eager to give me the time of day!"

"I give you the time of day!"

"_This isn't about you!_" she exclaimed. "Or is it? Do you want it to be? Is that why you're so offended?"

"I'm not _offended_ – "

" – Then why are we arguing?!"

"We're not arguing!"

Cordelia groaned. "And now we're arguing about whether or not this is an argument! Oh, my bloody stars! Just tell me what on this godforsaken planet has you so annoyed!"

James shook his head. "Cordelia, I am not _annoyed_ – "

" – Then why are you biting my head off?"

"Can't you see that he's just all wrong for you?"

"And why is that?"

"He's – he's – "

" – He's nice and good-looking and athletic?"

"Oh, well, bloody hell, if that's all you want – "

Cordelia leaned back against one of the cupboards, sighing loudly. "James, I really wish I knew why you were angry – "

" – Because Luke bloody Meade from the other side of the world showed up and decided to ruin my evening!"

"Yes, he ruined _your_ evening! I don't know how he did that, but he can be responsible for that bit, sure – I just don't understand why you're ruining _mine!_"

"I'm not ruining – "

" – Yes you are!" Cordelia cried. "I've had a perfectly nice time and you're spoiling that by shouting at me for having a conversation with Luke!" She rolled her eyes. "If you weren't so busy with your nose stuck in your bloody Quidditch annals – " James looked outraged, but Cordelia continued on, " – can something not be about Quidditch for like, ten minutes, please? Your own brother's sitting there, down in the dumps, figuratively and literally, and instead of doing anything about it, you're sat with Pip freaking Gillan crying over a century-old World Cup poster!"

"You take that back!"

"Oh, so _now_ you're paying attention to me? Because there's not a gigantic James Potter poster to stare adoringly at?"

"What, and _you're_ paying attention to _me?_ Because there's no twenty-six-year-old to bat your eyelashes at?" James swore. "You are _infuriating!_"

"And yet I still don't understand where this whole thing stemmed from! Was it because someone was chatting me up in _your_ drawing room?"

"Oh, of course – because the only thing about him that annoys me is the fact he wants to sleep with you!" He shook his head. "You _should_ take him to that Australasian match! I got you the tickets, so if you go with him it should seem about right – "

" – Can you _stop_ talking complete and utter _bollocks?!_"

"Well, I don't _just_ hate him because he's keen on you – "

" – Why else do you hate him, then? Please, divulge."

Struggling for words, James stammered, "I don't have to explain anything to you."

"After damn near screaming at me with no forewarning, I daresay you might have a couple of things – "

" – Hey, Mum, Dad," said Al, sticking his head in the kitchen door, "When you two are done having a Blibbering Humdinger, just know I'm dropping Sennen back at her place, yeah?"

"All right," said Cordelia quietly. "Tell her goodnight from me, and that I want to see her soon, okay?"

Albus nodded. "Will do, milady. I'll Floo at some point, James – "

" – Yeah, see you, Al – "

Once Albus departed, taking Sennen with him, Cordelia and James turned back to one another. The former sighed dejectedly and the latter felt rotten for upsetting her.

"Look, Cordelia, I'm…"

"Sorry, James, but right now I kind of don't want to hear it."

He looked at her. "I just wanted to apologize."

"Do you genuinely mean it, though?"

"Damn it, Cordelia – "

"James, you can't just sit there and expect me not to have time for anybody but you."

After a moment, he asked, "What do you mean? I know you've got friends, like Scorpius – "

" – I don't mean time for friends."

Silence settled between them momentarily.

"Oh."

"I'm not assuming anything but… come on. You're one of my best mates and I love the time we spend together, but I can't just be ready to go when you need me. Either you're in or you're out and if you're my best mate then you can't be mad when someone wants to be more than that."

"I'm not. I'm not mad."

"I saw your face in there."

"I wasn't mad."

"Then what were you?"

James went quiet. "Cordelia," he said after a brief period of hesitance, "do you stand by what you said in there? That all our stuff is in the past?"

"That all _that_ stuff is in the past," Cordelia corrected. "Yes."

"Not all _our_ stuff, though."

She sighed. "That's another talk we need to have, James, but I'm not sure I'm quite ready to have it yet."


	7. You're Cold And I Burn

**Author's note:** Thanks for your feedback on the last chapter! The world belongs to JKR and reviewers belong in the heaven of their choice.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

"**You're Cold And I Burn"**

**Or**

"**She Can't Be What You Need If She's Seventeen"**

* * *

"Perhaps I should have bought you a record," said Barbara Weasley, cradling a glass of champagne in one hand and gesturing to the record player that only ever seemed to play ancient Muggle songs.

James pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't let Dad hear you say that. He's still trying to figure out why I love them so much."

They stood amongst a crowd of others in the living room of the Potter house. There were orbs of light floating through the air, accompanied by an array of iced champagne bottles. The guests had already been subjected to a lengthy spiel on the antics of a younger James Sirius Potter, the majority of which was supplied by his mother, and now groups had split up to speak to one-another and enjoy the festivities.

Half of the guests were made up of James's rather plentiful extended family, and the other half were Hogwarts friends, Quidditch players, and delighted-looking plus-ones.

"You know, you really shouldn't have gone off on Cordelia over Luke Meade."

James set down his champagne flute on a shelf otherwise filled with his mother's Weird Sisters albums. "She mentioned that to you, did she?"

"Yes," said Barbara. "And I think you should set things straight."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, you're both rather confused, I think." He certainly looked discombobulated, and so Barbara explained. "There are all these feelings flooding back for the both of you, even though you were only meant to be friends this time around. And I think that's because how much of a staggered ending there was to your relationship a few years ago. I mean, the only thing I can really think to liken it to is Nearly-Headless Nick's execution?" They both chuckled. "No, listen – there was never a clean sweep, from the version of events I got told. You broke up, and then you snogged, and then you got a girlfriend, and then she almost got a boyfriend, and then you snogged, and then she _did_ get a boyfriend, and then both of you broke up with your significant others, and then you didn't speak for ages. And then you became friends and snogged again at Christmas," she added quickly.

"Only one of those three times was _truly_ a snog," James argued, "but I guess I can see where you're coming from."

Barbara smiled. "Cordelia's never told you 'look, James, you're gorgeous and all, but I'm totally over everything that happened between us,' and you've never told her that, either."

"Well, that's due to the fact I'm kind of not."

"And neither is _she_, I'd wager."

"Then why's she flirting with Luke Meade?"

Barbara's eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't exactly say _she_ instigated that."

"She still participated!"

"Who else there was interested in talking to her? You and Pip Gillan were knee-deep in annals older than both of your parents combined, and Luke was being really sweet."

"So you're saying she was only letting him play Chaser because I was busy?" James inferred.

Barbara nodded sagely. "It's not as though you were acting like you cared at all."

"But I don't get it – what was I supposed to do? Barge in and interrupt them? And then say what?"

"You could've mentioned the fact the two of you are going to an Australian Quidditch match together!" suggested an exasperated Barbara. "Or you could've asked her for your jersey back, if you wanted to keep him particularly far away!"

"What – 'hey, Poppins, I know I told you to keep my winter season jersey on account of the fact I want to sha – '"

"Who's got James's jersey?" Albus asked, appearing beside James in so quick and stealthy a manner it was as though he had popped out of the ground. Scorpius followed close behind.

"James's jersey?" the blond boy repeated. "That'd be Cordelia, wouldn't it?"

Barbara and Albus's eyebrows furrowed in unison.

"And how in the world would you know about that?" asked the latter.

"Oh!" Scorpius slung an arm around James's shoulders. "I should've mentioned it. We're mates now."

James patted Scorpius's hand. "I know it comes as a shock, Al, but he's not actually here as your plus-one."

Albus stared from his best friend to his brother, a look of incredulity smacked across his face.

Puzzled, Barbara asked, "I'm sorry – when and _how_ did this happen?"

"Couple of weeks ago," said James.

"I was staying at Cordelia's place, James came over, I wasn't wearing a shirt…" Scorpius waved a hand as if to say _the rest is history_.

"Bit o' good old contestosterone," James said with a grin.

Albus shook his head. "This is _really_ strange, guys."

His brother chuckled. "He's a laugh!"

Fred approached, presumably having seen Scorpius Malfoy with his arm around James and smiles on both of their faces. He seemed confused that they were not attempting to strangle one-another. "What's going on here?"

"These two have just decided they love each other," Barbara explained.

Albus pointed to the confused expression on Fred's face. "The inside of my head looks like that."

"What, a surprised dark bloke with a large enough inheritance to feed three villages?"

James barked out a laugh and high-fived Scorpius, for that was who had spoken. Barbara smiled, and even Fred's mouth twitched at the sides.

Albus sighed. "Bet you're a bit annoyed you're the last of our trio to befriend him, eh, James?"

James paused. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, he and Lily never acknowledge anyone else's presence when they're in a room together."

A moment passed, in which Scorpius fought the blush he could feel building up in his face and hoped to high heaven that James did not punch him in the face. "He's exa – "

"Seriously?" said James, sounding bewildered. "You're even mates with my little sister?"

"Yeah, Lily's great," Scorpius told him, nodding. "We get on like a house on fire. More often than not, disastrous for those with any investment in us. Oh, that's a terrible analogy. Ugh. Forget I said that."

* * *

"Mum, can I pinch Cordelia for just a second?"

"As long as you don't pinch too hard," Ginny replied with a smug grin on her face.

James rolled his eyes, redness growing in his cheeks, and Cordelia laughed.

"Yes, okay, thanks for that, Mum," James muttered.

"I loved that joke," Cordelia told him as they made their way across the room. "I thought it was hilarious. Top notch comedy gold."

"Well, I get my wit from both parents, but the quality of it certainly varies."

He stopped her then, gesturing to an empty spot on the stairs to the second floor of the Potter house. Further up the staircase, where the steps began to curve, Roxanne and Chris Wood were giggling to one another and sharing kisses. James groaned, then took a seat on the third step up and gestured for Cordelia to do the same.

"So why _have_ you stolen me away from your mother?"

"I still feel weird that you're mates with my mum. That's like having my manhood in an iron vice."

"Careful, James. Dessert first."

"Ha, ha," he deadpanned.

"Sorry," she said, sitting up straighter. "Let's be serious."

James smirked. "Well, honey, Sirius _is_ my middle name…"

"And you say your mum's sense of humour is egregious!"

"Come on, Cordelia – it's the one joke I can always fall back on! I'm pretty sure my parents did that on _purpose_. Though," he added, going off on a tangent completely, "if they were making a joke of anyone's name, it's Albus Severus Potter. I mean, _what – _"

" – Though I'm sure nomenclature is a very interesting topic in this particular family," Cordelia cut in, "I'd much rather get to the point of this conversation."

"Right."

He straightened up. "To be honest, I just wanted to apologise again for being an arse about Luke chatting you up."

She sighed. "That was weeks ago, James – "

" – And surprisingly enough, I still feel awful about it." He turned to her. "You're at perfect liberty to see anyone you like. Even if I personally think you could do way better, but I suppose he's got that whole _foreign_ thing going for him…"

"The Commonwealth's barely _foreign_, James." After a pause, she smiled at him. "Thank you for apologising, though. You didn't really have to."

"I still wanted to make sure we were okay."

She nudged his arm with hers. "We're always okay."

"Even if we haven't had a proper chat since my place?"

"Even if we haven't had a proper chat since your place."

They sat together a short while, observing their fellow partygoers and enjoying their mutual silence, and then Cordelia jumped slightly as though stuck with a pin.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Happy twenty-first."

In an attempt to quell the butterflies in his stomach, James said, "According to Quentin Embry, I can now legally drink in Muggle America."

"Do you intend to?" Cordelia asked, amused.

James shrugged. "I don't really see the point of America."

"Not a travel enthusiast?"

Again, he shrugged. "I'd like to see the world, but I feel like something more important than the place you're going is the people you're going there with. For me, the people make the memories. Not the place."

"I suppose you're right in a way. But I'd like to go everywhere."

"Even America?"

"If I had a good person with me, yeah. I could enjoy America."

"We should go," said James half-jokingly. It was only half-jokingly because he would have jumped up and left that minute, if she told him she wanted to. "I'd love to enjoy America with you."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" came a new voice.

James and Cordelia both turned to see a pair of battered up purple converse and scrunched up cat socks behind them. Attached to these haphazard clothing choices was none other than the turquoise-haired Teddy Lupin, grinning down at them both.

Victoire stuck her head out from behind her husband, standing several steps above to be even remotely close in height. She rolled her eyes at Teddy. "Don't terrorise James at Cordelia's expense. It's a wonder she hangs out with a bloke who thought it was a good idea at age four to run around naked while the rest of us were degnoming the garden at the Burrow."

James's face went bright red and Teddy roared with laughter. "That was the best summer!"

"For you, perhaps," James muttered.

"Oh, shut up," said Victoire fondly. "You like to think you're all cool with your Quidditch and sixty-year-old Muggle music, but really you're just little Jamesie to us."

"Vic, I swear, if you don't bugger off – "

"Oi," Teddy warned. "Don't say anything against the mother of my children…"

"Speaking of your child – or children," James amended, "where is he – or they?"

"Gran's," said Teddy. "Now, d'you mind letting us pass, or are we going to have to stand here embarrassing you all night?"

Cordelia and James stood, the latter with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, and Teddy and Victoire sidled past, grinning from ear to ear.

"I'm going to kill them once you've gone home," James told Cordelia as the two of them sat down once more on the stairs.

"By saying so, you've made me an accessory to murder."

"Damn it."

"What are you doing once all this is wrapped up anyway? Passing out in your childhood bedroom?"

"Nah." He smirked. "Mum's turned it into an office."

"Really?"

"I'd offer a tour, but someone might accuse us of defiling the sanctity of the ex-bedroom."

Cordelia laughed. "While I do believe there's some poetry in that – ex-girlfriend, ex-bedroom – I think we may have to remain downstairs for a little while longer."

"You're killing my buzz, Poppins."

"Sorry. I promise you'll be accused of defiling the sanctity of your ex-bedroom at some point. Probably bound to happen eventually, given the type of person you are."

* * *

"We don't usually go out for dinner," Barbara noted. "In fact, we don't usually go out at all."

"That, dearest love, is because I much prefer the stuff we get up to at home." Fred winked and clinked his drink against hers. (Forgive the English language that sentence.) "Social decorum makes it so hard to _breathe_."

Barbara sighed. "That's what I get for marrying an anarchist."

She dug her fork into the risotto they were sharing, and Fred did the same. He chewed through the mouthful, swallowing it, and then said, "You know, it's _good_, but this rice doesn't beat your mum's."

"No rice can beat my mum's, Fred. I swear, since she combined magic and a mechanical rice cooker, her food's been unbelievable."

"If you cooked like that, I'd have eloped with you halfway through fifth year."

She laughed. "I was somebody else's girlfriend then!"

"Then I would've at least done a bunk with the rice cooker." He ploughed through another bite of risotto, and then said, "I'm rubbish with Muggle stuff, but I would _learn_ if that's what it took."

"Oh, God – _you_ learning something." Barbara continued laughing; she never really stopped, not with Fred. "All I can imagine is lots of swearing and rice all over the place."

"So a normal Tuesday night, then?"

She shook her head, attempting to keep a straight face as she forked through the meal. "If you're not careful, I'm going to eat all of this."

"You're smaller than Lily – where do you even fit it?"

"My thighs, mostly."

"Rubbish. I've rather an intimate relationship with your thighs and I think they're top notch."

She went bright red. "Fred!" Lowering her voice, she said, "not in_ public_."

"Prude."

"Pervert."

"Is it perversion if you're my wife?"

"I suppose you'd prefer 'admiration'."

"Well, yes. I _was_ admiring."

Barbara's eyes remained on the dish she had already half finished. "Believe me, you do a lot of admiring."

"I do a good amount of admiring, yeah." Fred noticed Barbara's continuous consumption of risotto and pulled the dish back to the middle of the table. "I want to admire some of this, too, eh? And your mum's rice," he muttered under his breath, "I'd love to admire that, too."

* * *

Hugo Weasley sat beside his girlfriend at one of the smaller library tables, trying and failing to focus on finishing his Charms homework. He was wearing his Weasley jumper, even though spring was well underway, and his Chudley Cannons socks were growing worn from overuse. Gabbie's concentration seemed to be much better than Hugo's, for she had put in forty minutes of studying for Transfiguration and then moved on to Defence. She was one subject ahead of Hugo, but perhaps she always had one up on him anyway.

It was hard to find a period that they both had free, for though Hugo very much resembled his father socially, his hair and his intellect had been inherited from Hermione Granger, and therefore he was – undoubtedly – an academic overachiever. Gabbie was a Ravenclaw, and sprang from the same mould, a stereotype if ever there was one.

So together they sat, and together they had been sitting for over one hour by that point. At last, Hugo sighed deeply and turned in his seat.

"You're distracting me."

Gabbie set down her quill, smiling. "I never used to."

"…_Well_…"

"Yes, I can see the differences in the current dynamic." She shrugged. "What do you want to do, then? You don't have to give that to Patil until Easter, right?"

"Gabbie _Sterling_," Hugo said, aghast, "are you suggesting I put off yet another homework assignment because of you?"

Gabbie made to pick up her quill again, but Hugo extended a hand and stopped her.

"Because I'd be alright with that, actually. I mean, N.E.W.T. Charms isn't _that_ important."

"It's _pretty_ important – "

"Is it, though? Is it really?"

"Yes. And I can see the look in your eyes – you think it is, too."

He groaned. "Okay! Yes! I do! But… _please?_ I'm tired of not being able to get anything done because I'm thinking about what else we could be doing with the time."

"May I remind you that not one month ago, we could do this constantly and not think about… other things?"

"Circumstances have changed since then."

"What, I kissed you?"

Hugo turned faintly pink. "Yes, that's about it."

Gabbie smiled, clasping his hand in hers. "Okay. Sure. We can play a bit hooky just this once."

* * *

"_Ding dong_," James sang as Cordelia opened the door of her apartment.

Despite the warmth of the day England was having – a rare occasion in itself – James was wearing gloves, a jacket, and a long pair of jeans, as well as a pair of Converse much more pristinely kept than Teddy's, and a knitted tea cosy-like beanie on his head. Cordelia's first thought was that James Potter looked rather dashing in winter wear.

She herself was similarly clad, but with a longer coat and boots instead of trainers. She was also sans beanie.

This was to be explained by the change in hemispheres, and the fact that James and Cordelia were leaving British spring for the chillier end of Australasian autumn. The match was to be held in one of New Zealand's larger Quidditch stadiums, situated in a remote area of the thinly populated South Island.

"Got any baggage?" James asked with a grin. "We _are_ going to the other side of the world, you know."

"Yes, James, but I don't know if distance counts via portkey. We're zipping there, zipping back, and _Witch Weekly_ will be none the wiser."

"Oh, don't say that; you'll jinx it."

"How you are so awake this early in the morning, I shall never know."

"Right? Seven o'clock?" he laughed. "Quidditch is the only thing I can ever wake up for. _Well,_ Quidditch and a pretty girl."

"Don't push your luck."

"I never said – Cordelia, don't make _assumptions!_"

* * *

They had accounted for time differences, and so a morning departure from a Ministry portkey in London meant an evening arrival at the stadium. The match started with very little bother, though when James and Cordelia found their seats, they were greeted by another familiar face.

"…Ginny?"

"_Mum?!_"

Ginger-haired, happy-faced, and very distinctly Ginny, the woman in question stopped as James and Cordelia recognised her.

"Hello, you two. Just nipping off to the press box."

Cordelia looked confused. "If you needed a correspondent, you should've just said, Ginny – "

Ginny shook her head. "_Somebody_ wouldn't have it. And unfortunately, Somebody's Father agreed." She leaned closer to Cordelia, though this was little more than a gesture as there was such a large space between them. "When _Harry Potter_ is telling you not to interfere with somebody else's business, you _have _to listen." She chuckled. "Merlin; Ron, too. If my brother were to – "

" – Okay, I think we get it, Mum!" James snapped. "You'll be in the press box if we need anything!"

Ginny rolled her eyes, and then shot Cordelia a glance that displayed just how seriously she took her son. (The measure of which is, of course, not very.)

"Anyway – thought I'd let you just enjoy this one. See you on Monday!"

Cordelia grinned. "Bye, Ginny!"

The woman was almost gone, but then she backtracked and said pointedly, "_I love you, James._"

Shuffling his feet and looking extremely annoyed, James replied, "I love you, too, Mum."

Once Ginny had actually left, and James and Cordelia had sat themselves down, the latter of the two began laughing.

"I love your mum."

"That makes one of us," James grumbled.

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. "James. You're _twenty-one_. You must realise it's a little funny to still be embarrassed by things your parents do."

"That's what she _wants_ you to think! She does it on _purpose!_"

She laughed once more. "I certainly don't doubt that."

"Then why do you go along with it? It does _nothing_ for my ego."

"Oh, your ego was overinflated anyway. If you can't laugh at yourself, who _can _you laugh at?"

James stuffed his hands in his pockets, focusing on the pitch instead of Cordelia. "Usually Al."

* * *

Patricia sipped at the cup of coffee in front of her, wishing it were something stronger. She had never dreamed a conversation like this would come, and yet it had. She wanted more than anything for it to not be with him – not with Scorpius.

It was a miracle to think they lived together, really. Because she usually got in so late he was asleep, or she was with the Tumbleweed boys and he went to stay somewhere else. On many an occasion, the sleepy hours of the morning were the only times they ever truly spent alone. She cherished these, and so did he, but they were mostly enjoyable because neither spoke.

He arrived on schedule, which she greatly appreciated. She had a meeting to get to, and there was no point in prolonging something that had been coming for months. He hurried into the small Camden café, pecked Patricia on the lips, and then threw himself into the seat opposite her with the ghost of a smile on his face.

"Thanks for taking some time out of your busy schedule to see me," he said jokingly.

"I know you're kidding, but I really hoped this wouldn't start on that note."

He grinned at her. "Sorry for ruining lunch, then. I can leave and walk in again, if you like."

She shook her head, taking another sip of the coffee. She didn't want this to go downhill before it had to. Perhaps the entire thing was destined to be awful – borderline unbearable, really.

They were both quite a few seconds, and then Patricia asked, "How long have we been together, Scorp?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Three, four years?"

Patricia nodded, biting back a sigh.

"Why?" asked Scorpius. "Are you okay? Is there something wrong?"

She exhaled slowly. "Scorpius, I think we both know this has been coming."

"Pretend for the sake of the conversation that I'm completely oblivious as to what you mean."

Half-chuckling, she began, "I... I don't want to get married... at twenty-five."

Scorpius looked at her. He just looked at her. Not for the first time of late, she could not read him.

"Trish, we've known each other almost eleven years," he said.

She nodded. "Exactly. And they've been the best eleven years of my life, partially thanks to you. But we've been such close friends for ages and ages, and I don't know if I…" She forgot the coffee altogether. "Scorpius, you know I love you. I really hope you do. But the problem with love is that it's so pedantic. It's got to be defined in exactitude, and for so long I thought that meant I was in love with you, but…"

"But now it doesn't?"

She smiled at him. "No, I don't think it does. And it's not you," she added quickly. "It's not me either – not really. It's just… we're not the same people we were at sixteen, are we?"

"No, I guess not." He smiled at her. "I'm a bartender and you're managing headline gigs. Merlin, you're doing well."

She nodded slowly. "Thanks for saying so. I want the same thing for you – I want you to like who you are, and for you to not be wasting your time on someone who doesn't always appreciate your ideas, or have time for you to rant on and on and on about them."

They grinned at one another, and Scorpius said, "That's a clever line, Trish."

"That's the _truth_, Scorpius. You're always the one with the clever lines."

"I _am_ pretty clever."

She sighed. "And that's why you should be with someone who _loves _you – someone who isn't afraid to call you out when you're being a depressive existentialist prat, and who calls you an idiot, and who wants to change the world _with _you!" She shook her head, running her fingers through her hair. Her eyes met his. "Scorpius, I don't think I was _ever _that girl. I've never been one of those people who _had _to save people. I couldn't have cared less about – what was his name? – Milton Harper, back at school. But _you did_. And now I'm happy with working backstage with a band, and even back when I was working at the bookshop… I'm so content, Scorpius, with this silhouette life. You aren't."

"Stop trying to tell me what I am," he protested, shaking his head.

"But I'm right, aren't I?"

He cracked.

"Bloody hell, Trish – I've wanted so badly to love you. And to love who you're growing into, because she really is a brilliant girl, but to be honest, I… I just miss that girl – the one I went to school with, who didn't want to cause ripples with any step she ever took, who depended on me; the girl who was going to marry me at twenty-five because she didn't think she was making practical life choices!" He laughed bitterly. "Well, look how that turned out! And there _was _some secret, selfish part of me that wanted to be the successful one, but… that's _nothing _now, isn't it? Now that we're out of school."

He shook his head again. "I kept telling myself I loved you, but it was hurting to see that you didn't have time for me anymore. You're off doing things with your life that don't involve me. It doesn't really involve me at all, does it? Your life?'

"You're still one of my best friends," she insisted.

"And you're still mine, for all the history we share, but..."

(Then, simultaneously:)

"I don't think we're like _that_ anymore."

"I think we should sever this particular tie before it's too late."

Scorpius and Patricia looked at each other. The café now seemed loud, crowded; her coffee had gone cold. The lighting seemed darker, but somehow brighter, too.

"So… we just broke up?" Patricia surmised.

"I think that _is _what just happened."

They were quiet a moment.

"Benji was showing me this flat in Lincoln…"

"Oh, really? D'you want to go?"

"I think I should."

"Better for the band?"

"Yeah."

* * *

Lucy received a very sharp elbow to the ribs as Lily strode over to Scorpius Malfoy's booth in The Three Broomsticks. They had just been speaking about Scorpius as they entered the pub, but upon spotting him on the other side of the establishment, both girls' chatter had stopped dead. He had, with a masterful tilt of his head, motioned for Lily to join him, and before she could do so, Lucy had commented on what a novel moment it was. This had led to the elbow in the ribs and Lily's swift, no-goodbyes departure.

"What is Scorpius Malfoy doing in the middle of a crowded pub in Hogsmeade?" she asked coyly, settling in opposite him.

"Must we always meet this way?"

"In here, specifically," Lily pointed out. The last time they had spoken was, indeed, during Tumbleweed's gig months prior.

"Well, if it's any consolation, I _was_ going to hang about in your uncles' shop, but then I worried about the consequences _you_ might face for conversing with a Malfoy."

Lily rolled her eyes. "So you're not just passing through, then?"

Scorpius shrugged. "I could have been, if you didn't wander in here before two o'clock." He leaned forward, smiling. "I've actually got a proposition for you."

"I'm not going to pretend to know about your life choices," Lily joked, "but I _do_ have two older brothers who are both incredibly protective."

Playing along, Scorpius made a disparaging noise. "Your brothers? _Please_, I've won them both over already. Yes – even James – don't look so surprised!"

"So what _is_ this proposition?" Lily asked, extending her hands across the table though not allowing them far enough to reach his. "Business, pleasure?"

"I know I'm aesthetically pleasing, Lily, but I beg you to resist until I've at least talked you into working with me."

She raised her eyebrows. "_Working_ with you?"

He smiled. "You told me you wanted to change the world. Broad term, yes, but fortunately, we're both idealists. Think about it – a Potter and a Malfoy – putting aside the differences we're supposed to hate each other over, in order to do the magical world some good. I've been reading up on legislature involving magical creatures, and also – "

" – Children," Lily cut in.

"What?"

"_Children_," she repeated. "Magical creatures are all fine and dandy, but if you're going to look for laws my aunt Hermione hasn't already ironed out, that'll be a short list." He was staring at her, which made her feel self-conscious but also rather confident in her convictions. "My father grew up in a household that, while they may have come around in the end, did not treat him as they should have. Sure, they were Muggles, but that's not an excuse. And I – I don't want to bring your family into this, Scorpius, but – "

" – No, go ahead, please – "

She sighed, hoping that the heat she felt in her face did not mean she had gone as red as her hair. "Your father, then, for example. I don't know much, but my dad's mentioned a few things over the years that I wasn't supposed to hear, about choices that – your grandfather, I think it was? And Voldemort, of course – forced him to make…" She stopped, covering her face with her hands. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be launching into a speech about difficult family history that is none of my business just to prove a point."

Scorpius laughed, leaning over the table to tug on one of Lily's arms. Once her hands had moved away from her eyes, he looked up at her and said, "Just keep going. Please. I'm more than intrigued."

She smiled at him. "I was just thinking that there are lots of children in the wizarding world who, for a plethora of different reasons, don't always get the treatment they deserve. So if we're going to change the world, why don't we start with a generation?"

Lily watched a beaming smile, the kind fueled by realization, build across Scorpius's features.

"Lily, I could kiss you."

"Don't do that," she said quickly. "We shouldn't start up our youth-changing business by having you cheat on your girlfriend."

"Oh, no, that's not a concern. We've – uh – we've split up."

"…Oh. You – you have, have you?"

"Yeah. Don't worry," he told her, "it was a mutual decision."

Silence settled, but soon Scorpius blew it away like dust on the cover of a book.

"Can I buy you a drink or something?"

"Uh – yeah. If you want."

He smirked at her. "Not worried your brothers are going to find out?"

Lily raised her eyebrows at him. "If anybody should be worried about my brothers finding out, it's you. I mean, you may _think_ you've been best friends with Albus for four years, but you'd be lucky to keep your neck."

"So perhaps I shouldn't mention that I came to proposition you?"

"_Please_ stop saying you propositioned me."

"But imagine the look on Al's face as he starts to assume the worst of me."

Lily sighed. "That _would_ be quite funny."

"It'd be hilarious."

"I wonder who would hex you first. James or Al?"

"You'd be surprised at the strength of the bond I share with James."

Lily made a face at him. "If you've kissed Al and _James_ is the one with whom you share a profound bond, no wonder your relationship broke up."

"Alright, then, are you a butterbeer girl?"

"My entire family drinks butterbeer like it's water," she told him, nodding.

Scorpius departed to order them both a drink and Lily leaned back against the booth, sighing deeply. She had not imagined this trip to Hogsmeade involving the start of a business venture with Scorpius of all people, and she could not piece together for the life of her exactly how such a thing had fallen into place. How long had he been constructing this grand plan that she had just so impulsively hitchhiked onto? How long had he been constructing it with _her_ in mind?

Scorpius returned with two bottles of butterbeer and handed Lily's to her as he sat down.

"Thanks."

"Think of it as payment for the children idea."

"So… you're on board with that?"

"Do you have any other plans after Hogwarts?"

Lily shuffled her feet. "I've actually been offered a place training with the Harpies. My mum played for them, so we know all the coaches, and since James plays Quidditch and Roxanne is actually _on_ the team… it seems like a good fit."

"Do you want to do that?"

She shrugged. "Some people are more loyal to their favourite teams than to the Ministry of Magic."

"But you sound like you've put a lot of thought into the whole 'helping out kids' thing." Scorpius looked at her across the table. "Forgive me if I'm wrong."

"No, you're not – I just…" She shrugged again. "After the whole Milton Harper thing in fifth year, working with you on something like that just seems to do the world poetic justice?"

He smiled. "Are you saying you'd like to? Because there's no one else I'd rather work with."

"That sounds like a teensy bit of a lie."

"It's not! I swear! I'll write you an essay on why you should team up with me if you like," he joked, grinning.

"Oh, I've got enough essays on my plate as it is, without reading some rubbish you'd write."

"_Rubbish?_" Scorpius raised his eyebrows. "I was _Head Boy!_"

"I'm sure your writing is lovely," said Lily. "But – in all honesty – if we're going to work together, we have to make this _work_. We have to hit the ground running, have our facts researched, have a plan of attack – all of that stuff. Yeah? Scorpius?"

He had been staring at her as though admiring a piece in an art museum. Snapping to attention and nearly knocking over his butterbeer, he began to nod profusely. "Yes, yes, absolutely. I'll take care of all that while you're finishing N.E.W.T.s."

She groaned. "Don't remind me."

"They're not as hard as you think they'll be. I mean, Potions was difficult, but you're a whiz at those, so I'm sure you'll be fine." She looked puzzled. "Al told me you were the best in the family."

"He did, did he?"

"Is that shocking?"

"What, that I'm the best in the family?" Lily smirked. "Not at all. Just the fact that Al was telling you is a bit bemusing."

"I reckon it's brilliant." Scorpius nodded to himself. "I reckon _you're_ brilliant."

"I reckon you're right," said Lily, taking a swig of her butterbeer.

"What, not going to pay _me_ a compliment?"

"That's not how compliments work, you sod. If I have to compliment you back, you clearly didn't mean what you said."

"Touché."

She grinned at him from behind the tinted glass of the butterbeer bottle. "But I reckon you're bang on in the looks department."


	8. Apartments

**Author's note: **JKR flicked the switch, and I made this story light up. Kind of a Pottercentric chapter, this one. Reviews make my little heart sing!

**P.S.** No matter your A or AS level results, you are a shining star in the galaxy of this life!

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

"**Apartments"**

**Or**

"**I Can Love You Back If You Like"**

* * *

Sennen Cartwright reached across the couch and handed her friend a pumpkin pasty. "So are you feeling any better?"

"About what?" said Al miserably. "Being dumped by my girlfriend of three years, or knowing that she fancied somebody else for months prior to making me even slightly aware of it? Because both are pretty brutal."

Sennen sighed, then picked up her television remote and turned off the show that had been providing dull noise. "She didn't exactly dump you, did she? You two just sort of… collapsed, didn't you?"

Taking a moment to swallow his giant, grief-sized mouthful of pasty, Albus nodded. "This is true."

Even though it had been two months and Andy had moved out of Sennen's flat, nothing in the air seemed perfectly clear to Albus. There were copies of _Wuthering Heights_ everywhere – more than any human should have – and wizard poets' collections were piled in the most inconvenient of places, like under cushions on the couch; and that was not including the total buttery haze of Sennen Cartwright herself.

She was Andy's friend at first, and purely just that. Then Albus liked the same music that she did, and Albus learned about Muggle television that she liked (which seemed to be a large factor of the girl's life), and he visited her apartment to spend time with her rather than to wait for Andy. He hadn't waited for Andy in a long time, and yet he was still coming around. Sometimes she opened the door wiping tears from her eyes about whichever fictional character had done what, and sometimes she hadn't brushed hair (most times, really), and sometimes they just sat and listened to the radio or Quidditch commentaries – though if he could convince her to do that, it was a novelty in itself. (The extent of Miss Cartwright's love for sports began and ended with sweepstakes.)

Yet they just sat, and enjoyed each other's company.

Sometimes she had to work, or he had to run off for some Auror Training-related emergency, but over all, Albus and Sennen spent unproductive, copious amounts of time together, eating and drinking and being merry – even if occasionally for Sennen this meant shouting about Mary Shelley, a subject that Albus had very little knowledge of.

"Can't we just watch television or something?" he asked gruffly, not wanting to speak of Andy any longer.

Sennen raised her eyebrows. "You're welcome to, but I don't know if sticking your head in the sand and denying difficult facts is going to be good for you."

"Do you know what else isn't good for me? Not knowing what happens after Jess comes and helps Rory shut the sprinklers off and she tells him Dean's on the way and he turns the sprinklers on again!"

She sighed. "I've created a monster. And I think you're projecting," she added, when she had picked up the television remote.

As she flicked through different channels, a thought occurred to Albus.

"How can you have constant access to television shows but not have any... uh… what are they – _DVDs! Compact discs! Videos!_ Those things."

"I see I'm hanging out with a Muggle Studies student."

He half-bowed. "But seriously."

Sennen shrugged. "Muggleborns tend to use their abilities to make Muggle things more fun. What's the point of DVDs when you can just permanently encase every _Gilmore Girls_ episode into your television's satellite?"

"That's really extraordinary magic."

"All in a good day's work."

Albus leaned forward. "No, seriously! And you do all this for a show that's over twenty years old?"

"Would you rather I was an alcoholic?"

"Heavens no," he told her. "But at least then people would understand the addiction."

She shook her head, squinting at him in an attempt to seem intimidating. "First you come into my home, on this – the day of my _Gilmore Girls_ marathon – and then you proceed to question my beliefs?"

"You're scaring me."

"Good. Now to do the same to the patriarchy."

"What?"

She smiled sagely. "Unfortunately things in the Muggle world aren't quite as equal as they are for wizards."

"Oh. _Well_."

"Sorry for lowering the tone. I don't usually spew out mundane remarks, but today I guess it's all just…"

She waved her hands a few times and Albus laughed.

"No, no, it's fine! I like your spiel. It's entertaining."

"Consider paying the talent, maybe?"

"You want me to pay you to spend time with me?"

Both pairs of eyes widened.

" – Oh – "

" – Uh, that's not what I – "

" – No, of course not; ha, ha – "

" – Ha. Ha!"

" – Why are we obviously putting on a nervous laugh?"

" – You started it!"

" – Yes but why are we both doing it?"

" – Stop?"

" – Yes, alright."

Albus finished off his pumpkin pasty, and then asked Sennen, "Would you like to come to my cousin Dom's party?"

"With you?" she gathered slowly.

"Loads of our mates will be there."

"Like who?"

"Uh…" He scratched the back of his neck. "Cordelia, I think? To be honest, most of my friends are either family or going through break-ups. But if you went, I'd have two people to talk to in neither of those categories…?" He grinned at her, joining his hands in a mock prayer. "Come on, _please_."

Sennen raised her eyebrows. "It won't be like James's place?"

Albus groaned, rolling his eyes. "I can't guarantee my brother won't be an idiot. If you don't want to come, you don't have to, I just thought I'd… ask…"

"No – uh – that sounds… cool. Cool, grown-up party. At Dominique's place."

(In reality, she hated parties, but perhaps with him they could be all right.)

* * *

She had only just left the place, and yet Barbara Weasley was sure she had never loved a place as much as she loved the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts. Filled with studios and stages and perfect acoustics, the late Victorian buildings were unlike anything she had ever seen before. Students flocked from classroom to classroom chatting about underground performances of _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_, with much singing and many pirouettes. An older boy or two had looked her up and down, perhaps confused because she was humming the score of "Have You No Heart", the solo sung by the warlock's ill-fated bride-to-be in _Hairy Heart_, based on the fable of a similar name, or maybe because she was wearing a wedding ring.

Her meeting with the headmistress, Blanche Tully, took place in a spectacular theatre, at the front of which a group of performers were rehearsing for a production of _Cinderella_ with a real enchanted pumpkin.

"Muggle Studies students," Blanche had told Barbara.

In awe, she had replied, "There's definitely a disparity in the course between Hogwarts and here."

Blanche had laughed and so had Barbara and she still felt giddy on her way to meet Will Bowen for lunch. Will also worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, but due to Barbara's rather Felicia Alexander-oriented duties, they did not cross paths often at the office. Nevertheless, she was meeting him for lunch at his request in the Tate gallery's ground floor café.

Will was seated when she arrived, and she hurried over to his table by the window with a big grin on her face. He was dressed in a black suit, with matching oxfords and a blue button-down shirt that complemented his eyes.

"Heya!"

"How are you?" she asked, seating herself down opposite him and picking up a menu. "Have you ordered?"

"Not yet. I was waiting for you."

She smiled at him, then moved back to scanning her menu. "So, what was it you desperately needed to see me for?"

"Oh!" said Will. "Are we just going to launch right into it, then?"

Barbara watched him inquisitively. "Well, I don't see any point in beating around the bush about something you specifically ask me to meet you for."

"Hm… I suppose the easiest question to ask is… how do you like being married?"

Caught off-guard, Barbara replied, "To Fred? I love it. Best 'yes' I ever said." She raised an eyebrow. "_Why?_ Not considering asking somebody, are you?"

Will blushed a bright shade of pink. "I… well… it's just…"

"You and Rose _have_ been together a while."

"Yeah," he agreed with a dazed nod. "And we just moved in together, a couple of months back." He blinked a few times. "And her dad really likes me, for some reason. She said he'd be the hard one to win over, but after I mentioned that I preferred the Cannons to the Tornadoes, he was really nice…"

Barbara laughed. "And Hermione loves you, I'm guessing?"

"Oh, she's very interested in the work I do for the DIMC. Did you know she went out with Viktor Krum?"

She nodded. "Yes, Fred told me that very proudly about three months after we met. I think it's a good sign for Ron, that Hermione went for him and not an internationally-renowned Quidditch star."

"Well, when you put it like that…"

"But they love you?"

"They do _like_ me a great deal, yeah."

"And you love Rose?"

A grin built on his face at the mention of her name. "Yes. I know so."

"Then go for it!" She reached across the table to punch his arm enthusiastically. "Fred would probably tell me to say that you should go and clear everything with Ron first, because he's likely convinced himself that Rose will never grow up enough to marry someone… but something tells me this is going to be brilliant!"

"I'd be fine making it a really long engagement as well, if she wanted. You know, if she wanted to travel or get sixteen promotions or do anything like that before tying the knot… then that would be okay with me. I'd just like the reassurance that it's me she'd like to settle down with when the time comes."

Barbara smiled. "That's lovely, Will. It really is." Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. "Why aren't you talking to Cordelia about this? Aren't you guys good mates?"

Will beamed. "Yeah! She's the one who told me to come to you. I quote, 'I've never been anything remotely close to married, so I suggest you ask somebody who has. Or is, rather' – and then she started getting all caught in between idioms and breaking up her sentences, you know, like Cordelia does. Eventually, I reached the conclusion that the best person to ask would be you." He paused. "I would've gone for Fred, but as he's related by blood I was afraid he'd deem me unworthy and kick me to John O'Groats."

"I can't promise you that wouldn't have happened, no. But I swear – Fred _does_ like you. The entire family thinks you're brilliant. A perfect fit for Rose!"

Will blushed once more, then sought to distract himself. "Shall we order, then?"

* * *

Dominique Weasley was hosting a party. It was in celebration of someone's birthday, perhaps, though nobody knew whom; or it was a very late Easter celebration, for the calendar now read _May_. Whatever the reason, there was a party, and Dominique Weasley was hosting it.

The attendees of this party came from far and wide, and somehow James Potter ended up standing on one side of the room with an old friend of his named Jensen Bell. Like his late brother, Jensen was trim in build and somewhat lacking in height when compared to the Quidditch player he stood beside.

"It's funny," Jensen was telling James. "I used to tease him about it, to be honest – spent all his time at Hogwarts not caring about schoolgirls for a second… and then he didn't seem to be able to stop."

"…Really?" said James, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.

Cordelia Gilbert rounded the corner, and James had no clue what Jensen was thinking but he certainly knew that his own stomach was plummeting seemingly to the depths of hell.

She briefly greeted Jensen, and then turned her attention back to James with, "I think I'm going to head off. It's getting a bit late for me."

"Oh – d'you want me to come with you?"

"You don't have to," said Cordelia quickly. "If you're talking to Jensen, I don't want to interrupt."

"No, it's really nothing," James told her. He turned to Jensen. "I'll – uh – I'll owl you, mate. See you later?"

"Yeah, yeah, 'course." He grinned at James, and his eyes lingered briefly on Cordelia's face as the pair of them Disapparated before him.

* * *

"James, _why_ did you Apparate into my bedroom?"

He smiled lopsidedly at her, shrugging on his way into the hallway. "Thought it'd get things going a bit quicker."

Cordelia laughed. "I don't like you after eleven o'clock. You get far too honest."

Together, they collapsed onto the couch. There was silence shared, for a time.

"Can you stay?" Cordelia asked, yawning as she did so.

James would have liked it much better if he did not feel like there was a ghost between them. Ultimately, he decided to voice a concern that had begun to bubble inside him during his earlier conversation with Jensen. He did not wish to upset her, though – that was the last of his wants.

"Sure, I'll stay."

He put an arm around her as she leaned closer, and then he said as nonchalantly as he could, "So I was talking to Jensen tonight…"

"Yes, you were. How astute of you."

He shushed her. "We actually got talking about his brother, of all people." Cordelia tensed, but James forged on. "And… uh… well, you never know with Jensen, but… Adrian," he said decisively, forcing himself to continue on the subject. "Cordelia, I've just got to ask… I… how – how much did he… care about you?"

Cordelia was quiet. "As much as any teacher should, James. I'm sure that was the end of it."

"But that was a lot, I presume?"

"James, he was my _teacher_."

"But he certainly helped you out a lot, didn't he? Or at least, he wanted to?"

She sighed. "I don't know what that means."

"Cordelia…"

"James," she struggled, "the year we broke up was a complete and utter disaster. I mean, not for everyone, but… it was terrible for _me_. I lost my grandmother, and then my boyfriend…"

Ignoring the way his heart was beating almost out of his chest, and the fact that if Cordelia moved her hand from one shoulder to the other she would probably be able to feel it, James continued, "You gained an Adrian."

She did not correct him. She did not say he was wrong, that his phrasing was incorrect and that nothing had ever been even remotely like the way he was implying it had. She had frozen, allowing the aftershocks of her misery to reverberate through her, from one nerve to the next.

"…And then I lost him, ten months later."

He recognized the tone of voice with which she spoke about Adrian Bell. He recognized it almost too well.

"Did you love him?"

Her breath hitched. "James, no, I couldn't have."

"Why not?"

"Multiple reasons."

James wanted to ask if he was one of those many reasons, beyond logic and legalities; he wanted to ask if she felt the way he did, and he wanted to tell her that he didn't care, really, if she had loved someone when she was seventeen, because all that mattered was that she loved him now, didn't she, didn't she love him now –

There were tears in her eyes. She had pulled herself up from his shoulder and there were tears in her eyes. Tears he had put there, or Adrian Bell had.

"Oh, Cordelia, I…"

She shook her head, making an attempt to wipe the eyes that were welling up before him. "No, I'm just… it's silly…"

James reached forward and dispelled any escaping tears with one wipe of his thumb. He pulled her into him, knowing full well she could feel his beating heart that ached for her and because of her, and he loved her as she fought to keep whatever misery she felt inside trapped there, and he loved her as he told her she didn't have to.

"Everything's going to be fine," he whispered into her hair. "It's all going to be okay."

"That's easy for the survivors to say, isn't it?"

He wanted to kiss away the bitterness that had built up on her lips. He wanted to, but the best possible outcome was her pulling away and crying even more and saying that she couldn't do it not now it wasn't right. And he didn't blame this hypothetical Cordelia in his head, because she was correct. It wouldn't do any good to kiss a girl who was crying.

"Am I logical, Cordelia?"

Her irregular breathing patterns stopped altogether. "I don't know, James. Sometimes. About some things."

"Matters of the heart?"

"No. You're an impulsive tosspot."

"But what would I be logical about, if not feelings?"

"Well," she said after a moment, "you seem to have deduced that the best way to calm me down was to sprout some nonsense about whether or not you're logical, because you know I can't bite back a retort to save my life. You used logic to come to that conclusion, didn't you? I mean, in a twisted sort of way?"

"Did this conversation just collapse in on itself?"

Cordelia gave a teary laugh. "Paradox!"

James continued to hold her, and noticed it now, but did nothing to change the situation. "I like you late at night, Poppins. Really late, like this, when we're alone. Sure, you get way too pessimistic and emotional, but I get way too honest, so perhaps we make a good pair."

"Definitely a good pair," said Cordelia.

"I kind of want to tell you I love you. Would that be counterproductive?"

This did not seem to faze her. "I could say the same. But decisions made late at night after you've had a bit of a cry usually aren't the smartest. And _you've_ got an irrational streak that makes you think things are a good idea when they're not. So I don't know if an _I love you_ would be right."

"But you do?"

"Love you?" she shrugged. "Sometimes. Do you?"

"Love you?" he shrugged. "Most times."

She moved to say something more, but James shook his head. "It's late. I get honest and you get emotional. Let's not say anything we'll regret."

Cordelia nodded.

"Though I wouldn't exactly _regret_ it," he muttered.

"Nevertheless… logic prevails."

"I hate it when that happens."

Silence settled, then Cordelia asked, "If you're going to stay, do you want to sleep in a bed this time?"

"Are you offering?"

"That's kind of the point of a question. Yes."

"Do I want to sleep with you in your bed, you mean?"

"Do you want to sleep in my bed with me, yes. Unless you can be bothered Transfiguring this couch now, and then back to a couch in the morning."

James shook his head, yawning. Cordelia stood up and extended a hand to him, which he took. Together, they stepped down the hallway, swinging their hands as vigorously as both could manage.

Her bedroom was not exactly messy, beyond the sloppily made bed and somewhat organized piles of clothes and books and newspapers. Cordelia dropped her hand from James's to retrieve a pair of pajama bottoms and a well-worn Holyhead Harpies t-shirt. With the clothes in one hand and her wand in the other, she conjured up a black hanging sheet that bordered off one corner of the room from where the two of them stood.

"I'll just…" She ducked behind the partition.

James, left standing near the door, swallowed. "You don't mind if I… uh…?"

"Oh, sure, go ahead," called Cordelia absently, though she could not see what he was referring to.

James shrugged out of his jacket, then pulled his shirt off over his head. He debated the removal of his jeans, ultimately producing his wand from the pocket and Transfiguring them into a pair of rather denim-coloured flannel shorts. Feeling a mixture of confident and absolutely terrified, he jumped under the covers of Cordelia's bed just before she Vanished the black sheet.

"I'd say 'eager beaver', but…"

"But you'd be right," James joked, folding his arms behind his head.

"Is that your normal side of the bed?" she asked.

James raised his eyebrows. "…Yes?"

Cordelia grinned. "Well, then that works perfectly."

"Oh?"

"Because this is mine," she explained, climbing in beside him. Once she was bundled up in the duvet, she turned to face him and propped herself up on one elbow. "This isn't going to make anything weird, is it?"

"What, me shirtless in your bed? Or me in your bed at all? Me and your bed in the same sentence?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm just _wondering_."

"Shouldn't be too different to the couch, the way I see it," said James, switching his gaze to the ceiling, a dark indigo flecked with stars. "Only this time, we've both got blankets around us, and I can cuddle you if I get cold."

Cordelia laughed. "It's the end of May, James. Summer's just around the corner."

He smirked at her. "Well, it's not here yet. I've still got an excuse." He paused. "Just a quick question though – would you prefer it if we slept facing each other, or facing the other way…?" He raised his eyebrows like a form of punctuation. "Because it might be standoffish if we're _not_ facing each other, but then if we are… I mean, you could be staring at me all night and that's… well, contain yourself, Poppins."

Cordelia sighed. "With your shirt off like that, it's almost impossible."

"Take yours off then, and we'll be even."

He laughed and she went bright red. "Not on your life!"

"You know what," said James, still smiling a little, "my seventeen-year-old self would be so proud of me right now."

"Would he, though? I mean, wouldn't he be thinking 'Merlin, you tosser, how's it taken you four years to get this girl into bed? And you're not even doing anything! You're literally just sleeping!'?" James was silent, and Cordelia raised her eyebrows. "Face it. I'm right, aren't I?"

James sighed. He turned and mimicked Cordelia's position with the opposite elbow. "Technically, yes. But we haven't been _together_ for all that time, so I wasn't actively _attempting_. So if it was ten months from start to finish at first, and… well," he said after a moment, "we're still not involved, in so many words…"

"Nope! I don't accept that!" She pressed a hand to his cheek and looked him square in the eyes. "Sorry, James, but you're a disappointment to yourself."

"That's a bit rubbish," he admitted, lifting his free hand and touch hers on his face. "But this is nice."

When she moved to withdraw her hand, he held it in the space between them. He wasn't sure if it was his palm sweating or hers. Their eyes interlocked, not for the first time, and James wanted to lean over and kiss her. She wasn't crying now. She wasn't crying and she certainly wasn't thinking of somebody else, not Luke Meade, not Adrian Bell, not Kevin Corner, not anyone. Nothing existed but the two of them.

"Can I tell you something?" James asked.

Cordelia considered it. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether or not you want me to say the same thing back."

He laughed. "Well, I don't exactly want you to say 'I love you, Cordelia' back."

"No, I can't imagine you do," she replied, not missing a beat.

"So? What's the verdict? Can I tell you something or not?"

Cordelia shrugged. "I don't know. Can I tell _you_ something?"

"That depends."

She shook her head at him.

He wanted to kiss her but that would make it real. He wondered how long it would take the very newspapers scattered around her bedroom to turn on her. He knew they were testing the waters now. If being his friend meant being bombarded by questions of how close they really were, being his _anything more_ would mean interrogations on whether or not her feelings were genuine, on whether or not she was. It would mean she could get anything she wanted, be it a journalism venture or a published novel, but that it would work best with his name attached. If he kissed her and made it all real it would mean the credibility she worked so hard to build shattering at his fingertips. James was first and foremost a selfish person, but he couldn't bring himself to be selfish with her.

Cordelia must have noticed the change in his demeanour, for she asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm absolutely fine. Fine and _dandy_."

She looked at him expectantly, then pulled her hand from his and moved over to put her arms around him. James tensed, but Cordelia did not seem to care. "You don't need to hide things from me, James. I know you."

He wound his free arm around her waist, pulling her even closer. "I know you do, and it's just…"

"It's just nothing," she encouraged. "Come on, out with it!"

Unwittingly, James clutched her even closer. "It's _just_… I like you way too much to be friends. That's what this is!" He sighed. "_That's_ what's upsetting me because I know how much it bothers you, all those people from papers asking you about me – Mum's mentioned it, too. It's upsetting me to know that no matter how much I like you, us being together means you losing your credibility as a writer because all anyone seems to be interested in is who you're dating, and not the words you're putting on the page!"

Cordelia let out a deep breath.

"Guess you told me something then," she said eventually.

"Yeah," said James quietly. "Yeah."

She was holding him close, and he was holding her even closer.

"I think if you're going to be upset, that's a very noble reason for it," Cordelia whispered.

"You do?"

She nodded, then continued very quietly, "But you needn't be so self-sacrificing."

"In other words…"

"In other words, I will handle that stuff if and when it happens. I think I'm strong enough to deal with petty reporters. And if I myself am not," she added, still in a whisper, "then I am confident that either my work or my wand hand will be."

"So what you're saying is…"

"I wouldn't mind getting hounded if I could come home and spend time with you afterwards."

"Which home is this?" James asked in equally low a tone.

"Whichever," she replied.

"So, basically," said James, with his face inches from Cordelia's, "what you mean is _screw the world, I am in love with you_."

Cordelia smiled. "Is that what _you're_ saying?"

James smiled back. "I'd shout it from the top of Arthur's Seat if you'd like me to."

"No," said Cordelia, "I'd rather you just whispered it."

He leaned even closer. "Does that mean we can say it now?"

Cordelia gazed at him, nodding slowly. "Screw the world," she murmured. "I am in love with you."

James smiled. "A direct quote? Nice. Much appreciated." He sighed. "Cordelia Alice Gilbert, less commonly known as Poppins – "

" – Get on with it," she muttered.

He groaned. "Oh, alright!"

Then he kissed her.

They had been inches apart, and soon he had scooped her up entirely, and she couldn't have pulled away if she had wanted to. He had electrifying chills running to the edges of his scalp, but that could have been Cordelia's hand in his hair, and if he had been asked what his name was, he would not have known. He kissed her lips and her neck and her collarbones and sprinkled declarations of love wherever he went.

"My heart is beating so fast," he told her incredulously, grabbing her hand and pressing it against the left side of his chest.

"Like the swelling epic kind of feeling you get when it reaches the _na, na, na, na na na na_ part of Hey Jude," Cordelia replied, singing in tune with the words.

James stared at her. "Exactly like that."

She met his lips with hers once more. The next time they broke apart, Cordelia noticed her shirt had changed colour – and mascot. "I wasn't wearing a Magpies t-shirt when I kissed you last."

"It was the only thing that could've improved the current situation," James explained enthusiastically. "Now it's all perfect."

She rolled her eyes. "There's dedication, and then there's insanity."

"And guess what?" James pulled her back into him and spoke against her lips. "Screw the world, you're in love with me."

* * *

"You and Boot are practically betrothed," said Lily disdainfully as Lucy entered the seventh year girls' dormitory.

They – Lucy and Aidan Boot – had spoken for such an extended period of time that the former missed not only lunch but almost the beginning of her Potions class. Lily, with whom Lucy usually walked to said Potions class, had noticed.

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far yet," said Lucy, sitting down at the end of Lily's bed while the Quidditch captain set about drying her long red hair. "He and I were just discussing Charms."

"Well, you've certainly charmed him," Lily muttered.

Lucy was not in close enough a proximity to give her cousin a shove, so she shot her a firm look instead. Poppy Coote, sitting by the window with a widespread display of Ancient Runes textbooks, glanced up at the pause in conversation. With N.E.W.T. exams nigh, Alana Harris and her best friend Valerie had taken to studying for extended periods in the common room; usually, they were joined by their male counterparts, but neither Lily nor Lucy had paid much heed to their invitation. Hugo spent the majority of his time either holed up in the Head Boy's dormitory, the library, or somewhere around the grounds with his girlfriend, Gabbie.

"I don't suppose your wordplay's got you anywhere with a sexy ex-Slytherin?" Lucy grinned smugly, glad to have the upper hand. "Careful now, Lily; he's twenty."

Lily groaned through the blush on her cheeks. "_Barely!_" She shook her red head. "Now, we weren't talking about me, or a future partner of mine – "

" – Wow, Lily, I knew you _fancied_ him but I didn't expect _that_. Are there rolls of parchment covered with _Mrs. Lily Ma_ –?"

Lily threw her hairbrush in Lucy's direction – she tended to resort to violence when Scorpius Malfoy was mentioned – and found a stray hair-tie with which to pull her hair out of her eyes.

"That's not what I meant," she snapped. With a grand hand gesture, she continued: "Back to you, please. Let's talk about you. You and Aidan Boot."

Lucy went a pale pink, shaking her head absently. "There really isn't much to say."

"Oh, you've not given him the boot, have you?"

"I'll give _you_ a boot if you're not careful!"

Lily raised her hands in surrender. She laughed. "I'm sorry, Luce… _Honestly_."

After a moment of steely composure, the corners of Lucy's mouth twitched upwards. "Fine, then."

They were quiet, listening to the rustling of Poppy's pages on the other side of the dormitory, and then Lucy spoke again.

"But for the record he did ask me to study with him tomorrow."

* * *

Cordelia Gilbert awoke to a half-empty bed and the sound of a twenty-one-year-old rummaging through her kitchen cupboards. The first thing she did, after remembering the events of the previous night, was smile to herself, and when she had come to terms with the lovely change in what was previously a rather singular life, she groped around the side of the bed, found her pajama bottoms, and flung them on before creeping out of the bedroom and down the hall.

She checked her appearance in the reflection of a picture on the wall, wiped away any evidence that she had just woken up, and then bounded around the corner into the kitchen.

James's face broke into a grin upon seeing her. "Good morning," he said brightly.

"Good morning," Cordelia replied, unable to keep herself from smiling as well.

She eyed up the items in James's hands – a strange mix of fruit, muesli, and a couple of slices of bread – and then folded her arms.

"My cooking prowess is nowhere near as developed as my Quidditch skills," James admitted, "but I've been living alone a year longer than you have, so I thought I might share my wisdom."

For this, Cordelia was grateful, because even though many people would probably be surprised by the fact, she was by no means a culinary goddess. She gestured around the kitchen as James set down what ingredients he had already procured. "You're welcome to anything you like."

He paused. "Anything?"

"Oi."

"Right. Breakfast."

He made a show of compartmentalising himself, but just when he had set about working, Cordelia wound her arms around him from behind and rested her head against his shoulder blades.

"You're distracting me."

"You're welcome," she replied.

James sighed. "What are we going to do about this?"

"About what? The fact that the sight of you cooking breakfast absolutely floors me? Yes, now I think on it, that _could_ get problematic…"

He turned, chuckling, and pulled her into a hug. "Well, obviously. We're going to have to fix the fact that you're undeniably attracted to me. But more importantly – and yes, for once there's something more important than the fact you love me – " He looked at her seriously. " – Are we going to tell anyone?"

Cordelia was silent a moment. "Like who?"

"Like, everyone."

She bit her lip. "Would it be selfish of me to say that I don't really think it's anybody's business?"

"No," said James quickly. "I've been thinking along those lines, too. Plus… it might be easier for now. If we have it just be us. Then we don't have reporters or magazines or colleagues interfering with what you so correctly called _our_ business."

Cordelia nodded, then burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"Well, it's not _funny_ so much as…" She looked up at him. "I work for your mum!"

James chuckled. "You _do_, don't you? Well, I'll be sure not to stop by during office hours."

"Do you think she'll mind?"

"What, us going out or me stealing you for lunch and a snog?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "The first one, idiot."

James shrugged. "I reckon she'll be happy. She loves you." He leaned in closer. "To be honest, I think she and Dad have a bet going. On when or if we'll get together."

"Your father, 'The Chosen One', is betting with his Harpy-cum-Quidditch-Correspondent wife… about whether or not their son is going to get together with _another_ Quidditch Correspondent?"

"I think that sums up their relationship pretty well, actually." James grinned. "Mum's going to win, though. She always does."

He averted his attention to their breakfast, which had been preparing itself magically throughout the conversation. Cordelia shuffled across the kitchen and grabbed them a cup each to share a pot of tea.

"So we're just going to keep things quiet for a while, then?" James clarified.

Cordelia waved her wand in the general direction of the kettle, which began to boil itself. "Yes, I think that'd be best. I've got to go into the office today, anyway."

"I've got practice at two."

"Try not to murder Luke with the sheer power of your smugness, eh?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" James smirked. "I got rid of him weeks ago."

"Hid the remains?"

"In America. That way nobody will ever be bothered looking for them."

Cordelia laughed. "As somebody who has already told you she intends to go there in the future, I don't appreciate your deprecation."

"As somebody who just made you breakfast…"

"As somebody who just _be quiet_," she countered, pressing a kiss to his lips as she moved to cross the kitchen.

James caught her by the waist and pulled her back. "It keeps hitting me all of sudden." He grinned down at her. "I can see you when I like, I can stay over when I like, I can kiss you when I like, and vice versa."

To illustrate the point, he kissed her again.

"While I will note that this isn't the smartest if we're trying to keep things under wraps," said Cordelia, "I'm really enjoying how exciting all of this is for you."

James laughed. "Let's be honest, Cordelia, I've never been cool when it comes to you."

* * *

"This seat free?"

Shelley Corner looked up from her copy of the _Prophet_ and found herself eye to eye with a mousy-haired, pale-faced man who could not have been much taller than she was. He had dark stormy eyes and a square jaw, and while he was not immediately someone she usually would have been attracted to, something about him struck her.

"Oh, yes. Go ahead, by all means."

But he did not move to take it back to where his friends were sitting. Instead, he sat down opposite her with a slightly smug air about him.

"I'm surprised you're here alone."

She raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"Well, realistically, a girl as pretty as yourself… I expected you to be meeting a boyfriend – or a girlfriend – at this time of evening."

Shelley shook her head. "I'm afraid not." She set down the _Prophet_ altogether. "Just a quick cocktail and run kind of girl, me."

"That's funny," said the man, quirking an eyebrow. "I don't see a cocktail anywhere."

"Well, you see, they've already taken it away. I've had the cocktail – now comes the _run_."

"But you can't leave!"

"Why not?"

"I'm not _nearly_ done flirting with you yet."

She laughed, extending a hand over the table. "I'm Shelley."

He shook it. "John."

"Hello, John."

"Hello, Shelley."

* * *

"So your last name is Fitzgerald?" Andy surmised, using a pink straw to stir her chocolate milkshake. Alex sat on the stool beside her, sipping at their own drink. "Alex Fitzgerald?"

Alex laughed. "What's so necessary to clarify? Alex Fitzgerald, yes. Like you're Andy Fawcett."

"Andrea," she admitted, "technically. That's what's on the birth certificate, but nobody calls me by it."

Alex raised their eyebrows. "I like it! 'Andrea' sounds classy – which you aren't, of course, but wouldn't that be a lovely illusion?"

"First you ask me out to lunch and then you make fun of me? This is shaping up to be the best hang-out I've ever attended."

"_Hang-out?_" Alex repeated, looking confused.

"Yes, isn't it?"

"Well – uh – if-if you want it to be, I guess." They shrugged. "When I asked you out, I meant 'on a date', but if… if you just wanted to hang out, that's cool, too. I mean, not everybody is so relaxed about the whole _gender-fluid_ thing but I just…"

"You're blushing," Andy noticed.

"Well, yes, I expect to be, considering how embarrassed I am right now!"

"Why are you embarrassed?"

"I thought it was a date, _you_ didn't think it was a date – "

Andy leaned forward rather abruptly and silenced Alex with a kiss. They lingered there a moment, then inched slowly apart.

"I've dealt with a lot more than somebody not conforming to the gender binary thing," Andy reassured them. "To the extent that you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Still blushing an intense rhubarb shade, Alex asked, "Like what?"

"Maybe after another few dates," said Andy, grinning and leaning in for another kiss.

* * *

It was the week of Hogwarts' N.E.W.T. exams, and Scorpius Malfoy sat in London wanting to kiss his best friend's sister. He was not sure what drove this desire, nor why it had embedded itself so deeply in his gut; he knew only that he felt it, and if he did not act on it, fast, the withdrawal of it all might kill him. There were only a few great factors that kept him from reaching for this goal, the largest of which was that the best friend whose sister Scorpius wanted to kiss had just moved in with him, and was sleeping down the hall in what was previously a home studio for Tumbleweed. So in a way, Scorpius had put himself in the simultaneously best and worst situation possible – if Lily needed a place to stay in London, where better than with her brother and his tousled blond flat-mate? But also, if Lily needed a place to stay in London, there was James, and even if she chose Albus over James, any time Scorpius spent with her would be clouded over by the presence of her brother.

He rolled over in bed, letting out a loud groan. In two weeks, Lily Potter would have left school and hopefully started working with him. That would mean quitting his bartending job and waking up a lot earlier – or, alternatively, pretending not to have done so, and walking into the living room in only his pants. Scorpius decided he was probably not desperate enough for the last option, but would definitely have to try it once, just to see how Lily would react.

There was a knock on the sliding bedroom doors, currently closed, and Scorpius picked up his wand from the table beside his bed and opened not only the curtains covering the frosted glass grids on the doors but also the doors themselves.

"You're not Albus." He squinted, shooting Sennen Cartwright a wry smile.

His vision had cleared enough to see her blushing. This was understandable; she had knocked, and then shortly thereafter been exposed to Scorpius Malfoy lying in bed with his modesty protected by a few dark grey sheets.

"Good morning," Sennen said in a voice that she could barely keep level.

"I imagine so," said Scorpius, sitting up. "Where's Albus?"

Sennen shrugged. "I was hoping you could tell me."

"His room's down the hall. Have you checked in there?"

She shook her head. "I kind of came in here not knowing what to expect."

Scorpius smirked. "I tend to have that effect on people."

He flicked his wand once more and Summoned a stray pair of trousers. Sennen blushed again, turning her head while Scorpius clambered into the clothes and gave his hair a thorough hand-through.

"Let's go wake up His Highness, eh?"

He began striding through the living room and around the corner to the hall down which Albus's bedroom was located, and Sennen followed two steps behind.

"You know, I thought that might have been _his_ bedroom when I knocked."

Scorpius laughed. "The room within seeing distance of a penthouse view? Not on my watch. Or in my apartment, in fact."

Sennen smiled at that. "He won't be asleep, will he?"

"Goodness, no. I mean, I was, but I could sleep through a third wizarding war and only wake up for the loo. Al usually can't sleep past nine. What time is it?"

"About half ten?"

"Then I think we'll be alright."

Scorpius stopped when he reached Albus's room, and Sennen followed suit. The door was painted emerald green, much like the eyes of the boy who occupied the space behind the threshold, and as Sennen moved to knock, Scorpius shouted, "Sennen's here, dearest! Better put something on to cover that boil on your – "

The door flew open and Albus shoved Scorpius so hard he hit the opposite wall of the corridor. "He's kidding," Albus told Sennen quickly, smiling at her with a faint shade of pink on his cheeks. "He's joking. That wasn't true. That was… a… lie." He blinked a couple of times. "I mean, not the bit about you being here," he stammered. "That's definitely true. You're right in front of me. Look at you!" He leaned over and punched her lightly on the arm. "Yep! You're here! I meant… the boil thing. That's the joke. I don't… have any boils. Or any kind of illness, or skin infection… of any kind."

Sennen, overwhelmed, smiled at him with an exaggerated nod. "I gathered that."

Albus folded his arms and scowled at Scorpius who was now leaning against the wall, watching them both.

"Good," said Albus.

Both Sennen and Scorpius, if they had voiced what they were thinking, would have agreed that he looked it. Albus did not care much for his appearance, but the waywardness of his hair illustrated the peak of devil-may-care; and the large, dark green Weasley jumper he wore matched his eyes, and the door, and clashed horrifically with his jeans and mismatched gold-purple socks, but this nonchalant faux pas somehow heightened his attractiveness as well. Indeed, Scorpius and Sennen both found him very good-looking then. (And probably many other times that neither of them had ever admitted.)

"I hope this silence wasn't caused by my 'boil' remark," Scorpius said dryly.

Sennen and Albus turned to him.

"Again, if I may ask," Scorpius continued, "why _are_ you here, Sennen? Don't you have a bakery to run, with this one's still-blatantly-distant ex-girlfriend?"

"Uh… _well_…" Sennen tried, floored by the direct nature of Scorpius's comment. "I'm more on the marketing side of things, these days. Since we've taken on more staff, I'm not required so much. And the filing pretty much does itself, which…" She trailed off.

"…Which leaves you with more time to see people you care about." Scorpius shrugged. His eyes shifted from Sennen to Albus. "I get it."

"I offered to spend one of my training-free days showing Sennen around London," Albus cut in. "You know, what real capital wizards do."

"Just a friendly outing," said Scorpius lightly. "Never mind the fact you look like the worst-matched couple in this godforsaken city."

He gestured to them both, with Albus's disorganized green-denim-purple-gold-presumably-brown-shoe combination, Sennen's baby blue dress, and her red belt and shoes, and added, "I'm not wrong."

Sennen laughed. "Between the pair of us, we _do_ sort of look like a packet of felt tip markers once all the good colours have dried out and been binned."

Albus nodded, for he had taken Muggle Studies, and Scorpius looked confused, for he had not.

They left shortly after that, and Scorpius sat alone on the couch, traveling deep once more into his thoughts. Alas, many of them featured Lily.

* * *

"I'm sorry about him," Albus said over lunch.

He and Sennen sat in a busy café, a pie on his plate and a slice of cake on hers. They had been down Diagon Alley, through the magical back alleys of Blackfriars. The volume of the wizarding community in London stunned Sennen, even though a city with such a vast population should have been filled with her kind, anyway. (Was 'her kind' magical? Or was it Muggle? As a Muggleborn, she found herself very confused.)

"Who, Scorpius?"

Albus nodded. "I mean, he's a brilliant bloke and I love him, but he's got a thing for embarrassing people."

Sennen furrowed her eyebrows. "I don't really think that's true. I think he just likes embarrassing _you_ in particular."

"Well, thanks for the support on _that_ front, Sennen."

"What did you want me to say? 'Oh, you're right! It's so unfortunate! I bet he projects fake boils on everybody!'?"

He chuckled. "When you put it that way…"

"I'm on the ball," she said, nodding enthusiastically. "There's a ball – somewhere – and I'm on it."

"Good to know." He shot her a quizzical look. "If I ever need somebody who comes free with a ball, I'll be in touch."

She shook her head. "It's a Muggle figure of speech! If you're 'on the ball', it's like… I don't know – "

" – At the top of your game, or something? Quick-witted?"

"Yes, that's pretty much it!"

Albus took a moment to enjoy his pie, and then went on with, "So Andy's now seeing this Alex, I presume?"

With a sigh, Sennen nodded. "I'm sorry…"

"No – don't be," said Albus immediately. "I'm over it. It's been almost three months. If I'm going to be totally honest, Roxanne's been trying to set me up with girls from the Holyhead Harpies." He laughed. "Not really my cup of tea, though."

"How are she and Wood?" Sennen asked, poking her fork into the cake once again. "I read a Skeeter thing the other day that said they'd split."

Albus shrugged. "Usually, you can't trust Rita Skeeter, but…"

Sennen paused with the fork halfway to her mouth. "But they _have?_"

"Yeah… as far as I know, Rox ended it."

"I find _that_ hard to believe."

"Ah, well, times change," said Albus. "I think we know as much about that as anyone."

Sennen smiled. "So long as everyone's happy, I guess."

"Rox is. They were together ages, so it's understandable that Wood's upset, but… I don't know. Roxanne's just throwing herself into Quidditch."

"Oh, that'll be good for the Harpies."

"Yeah – definitely. I mean, disgruntled Beaters. Best thing to have on a Quidditch team."

* * *

"We're closing!" Fred shouted from the upper floor of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes as he heard the door open below.

"I know, Wizard and The Hopping Pot!" James called back, for it was he who had entered. "No need to act so snippy."

"What brings _you_ to my neck of the woods, then?" Fred asked, zooming down to meet his cousin. "You know, beyond the fact that your mum works just down the road?"

James shrugged. "Thought I'd pop round. Haven't seen you in a week."

"Oh – brilliant. Want to head upstairs, then? Barbs is just waiting to find out about whether or not she got the job with WADA."

"With WADA?"

"With WADA," said Fred enthusiastically. "Finally, somebody understands!"

James laughed. "How has nobody else found that as funny as the two of us?"

"Dunno," Fred replied in a glum voice. "Perhaps we're not shining emblems of maturity."

He set aside the poster separating the staircase from the shop and climbed through after James. They scuffled up the stairs two at a time, still chortling, until they reached the door, which James flung open, shouting, "Hello, Future Pwofessows at WADA, this is James Potter speaking!"

Barbara waltzed into the lounge-and-kitchenette with an unimpressed expression on her face. She crossed the small space, fetched herself a cup of tea, and then turned to James and Fred, both of whom had taken up residence at the table in the middle of the room. "If you expect me to laugh, you'll be sorely disappointed."

"That's okay," said James, "lots of things disappoint me."

Fred turned to him. "Like the fact your sister finishes school in a week and isn't playing for the Harpies?"

"I mean, yes," said James, "but Lily can do what she likes."

"And you're not bothered in the slightest by the fact she's going to be working with _Scorpius Malfoy_?" Barbara asked. "Three years ago you'd have wanted his head on a spike. Hell, three _months_ ago!"

James shrugged. "That's neither here nor there. If they can do some good, _brilliant!_ He's Al's best mate, I trust him."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that."

"Never thought I'd say it without a trace of doubt."


End file.
